


bonus track

by leisvrely



Series: on-air [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bands, Drinking, Drug Abuse, Drug Use, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Queerplatonic Relationships, Questioning Sexuality, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Discovery, Underage Drinking, queer friendships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 39,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25058611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leisvrely/pseuds/leisvrely
Summary: bonus track: additional track that does not usually appear on standard pressing of a discakaashi rises to the top of the world and discovers how painful it can be to fall(i.e. side stories from the on-air series)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Kuroo Tetsurou, Bokuto Koutarou/Shirofuku Yukie
Series: on-air [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584886
Comments: 9
Kudos: 29





	1. track one - new mask

**Author's Note:**

> anyway these can be read on their own i GUESS but reading side a and b will give context for later on so if you havent read those first i would heavily suggest to check out those first

Keiji took a long draw from his juul, pausing to blow out a sweet-smelling cloud. It was starting to get dark outside, making his blank music sheet a little harder to see. He’d been sitting outside of the dorm building for maybe an hour, attempting to come up with any sort of good chord progression. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard to make an original song. With a sigh, he shoved the juul in his pocket and began to zip the bass back into its cover. This was impossible. 

Walking back into the building in defeat, he couldn’t stop the mental stabs at himself. Keiji had played bass for around seven years now. His parents had started him with violin lessons, which evolved into guitar lessons, then turning him into a self-taught bass player. The tips of his fingers were completely calloused from years of torment on them, and he couldn’t help but be proud. Then again, callouses were nothing if he couldn’t write a single _fucking song._

His floor was loud like usual. In the common area, there was some battle over table football. This wasn’t a surprise. A whiteboard on the wall kept score of the past winners and there was some intricate championship that Keiji could care less about. At the end of the hallway was his room. He actually quite liked his roommate. Kenma and he got along well. Both hated the absurd amount of noise, both preferred to stay in doing their respective hobbies, and both kept out of each other’s business. 

Tonight seemed to be different, however. 

Kenma seemed to be getting ready to go somewhere. He glanced up at Keiji placing his bass against the wall and sitting down to take off his shoes. 

“Hey, have any plans for tonight?” He asked in a monotone voice, checking his phone briefly. 

Keiji raised an eyebrow. “Uh, not really. Was just gonna stay in.”  
“There’s a circle house having a party tonight, if you want to go.” Shrugging at him, he turned on his heels to face him sitting on the bed. “Tora’s driving.” 

He had absolutely no idea who that was. “Since when do you go to parties?”  
Kenma shrugged again. “Since whenever. Are you coming or what?”  
Truthfully speaking, no. Keiji didn’t particularly feel like going. Even if it was a Friday night, he had never really been one to indulge in… party culture. At eighteen, he’d only ever vaped with friends or by himself. His parents had been very cautionary about it when they helped him move into the dorms for his first year of university a few months ago. They had instilled the idea of drugs being particularly evil, along with drinking underage. It was all horror story this, cautionary tale that, for at _least_ two hours before finally parting with them. So no, Keiji didn’t particularly want to go. That didn’t mean he wasn’t morbidly curious, however. 

Sighing in defeat, he hung his head. “Fine. I’ll go.” 

His friend smiled. “Good. Now get up, we’re already fashionably late.”  
Keiji rolled his eyes, standing up from his bed and following Kenma out of their room. His parents had to have been over-exaggerating. Things couldn’t possibly go that bad. 

* * *

Toru was some guy with a mohawk and a very nice car. Kenma sat shotgun, leaving Keiji in the back and sort of out of the conversation. For the most part, it was the other guy that talked the entire drive into the circle neighbourhood. Something about bleaching hair this, it being a good look for “him” that. It was generous to say he spaced out after the first thirty seconds. 

A weird feeling circulated around his stomach as Toru parked on the side of the street with a lot of other cars. Loud music was audible even from here. Was it nerves? Probably. The last party he had gone to was probably for a birthday in primary school. Keiji had no background on how to act, what to do, how to stand, or any sort of etiquette for this particular situation. 

_Oh, Jesus._ Was he going to embarrass himself?  
It was a short walk to the circle house, and it was easy to pick out where the party was. People were crowded outside on the lawn, all holding plastic cups and socialising like it was the easiest thing in the world. The weird feeling got stronger as he followed behind Kenma like a shield, pulling his arms nearer around himself to avoid obviously drunk people on their way inside the house. 

American rap music blasted throughout the interior, bass pumping into his veins. It was a madhouse inside. Everything smelled strongly of alcohol and skunk as Toru led them into a living room. The two continued to have a conversation Keiji couldn’t hear, he was too busy taking it all in to eavesdrop. 

That was his first mistake. 

In a haze of confusion, Keiji watched a crowd around two people having some sort of competition. Shots maybe? One of them threw back their head to swallow, placing down the glass with such vigour before collapsing backwards. The crowd cheered and gave their congratulations to the winner. Keiji scrunched up his nose, turning to make a comment about it to Kenma before blinking in surprise. 

Tora and Kenma had disappeared. 

This was when a slight amount of panic settled in. He pushed his way around some people, unable to locate his friend and ride anywhere on the first floor. The kitchen was filled with lots of people, but none of them he could recognize. Due to the stairs being overcrowded, he wouldn’t dare try to go up and possibly step on someone. Would that start a fight? _Jesus,_ Keiji’s ass would get kicked if he was in a fight. He didn’t even know how to throw a punch without maybe breaking his hand! What if-

“Hey, dude.” Someone threw an arm around his shoulder. “You alright?”  
Once again, it was someone he didn’t recognise. Panic surged up as he shoved the guy off and watched him hardly even stumble. _Yup._ There was absolutely no way he could start a fight. 

The guy put his arms up, as if to signal no harm. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to scare you.”  
As Keiji held his arms against his chest as some form of self-protection, he took in the guy. He was tall, or at least his hair made him look like it. Some form of the worst bed-head he’d _ever_ seen. Any response he came up with stayed in his head, as he felt unable to open his mouth. 

He frowned. “Are you having a bad trip?”  
_That was enough._

“What are you talking about?” Finally managing to sputter it out, he felt his face go red in embarrassment. 

“Oh, sorry.” He shrugged. “You just kinda looked it, y’know?” 

Keiji blinked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

The guy shook both hands around the sides of his head. “Like, out of it. In a panicky sort of way.”  
“Oh.”  
He expected him to leave and move on. Go into the kitchen and grab a cup of some sort of liquor, or maybe join the small group of people dancing to the loud music. Or who knows, maybe find someone single to make out with and block other people in his way. 

Instead of doing any of that, however, he stuck out his hand. “I’m Kuroo.”  
“Uh,” reaching out to shake his hand, Keiji looked down at his feet. “Akaashi Keiji. Nice to meet you.”  
Kuroo raised his eyebrows. “Very formal. C’mon, Akaashi. Get a drink with me.”  
That was the beginning of his parent’s worst nightmare. Losing the one person who seemed nice enough to talk to him, however, was perhaps his.  
“Sure, I guess.” 

* * *

Ten minutes later, Keiji decided that alcohol tasted like what he imagined gasoline would. That, and he would never ever _ever_ drink again. There was genuinely no appeal to this; he had no idea how people wanted to do this every weekend. He had no idea how people could get addicted to this kind of stuff.

He was sat in a bedroom with a few other people he didn’t know, each passing a pipe around. Part of him wanted to wrinkle his nose at how many mouths were touching the same piece, how if one person had something then the rest of them would get it too. To look less lame, he tried one more sip of the poison cup. It went down hard, just as the other ones had. 

“Not much of a rum guy?” Kuroo asked him, smoke curling around the corners of his mouth when he spoke. It looked kind of cool, in an almost attractive way. 

Keiji shook his head. “I’ve never drank before.” 

Half of the circle gaped at him. 

“Kuroo, oh my god.”  
“What pure corner of campus did you pick him up from?” One of the guys with equally stupid hair gave him a sympathetic look. “His dick isn’t worth it, bro.” 

With a throw of the pillow, he was sent flying backwards to the floor. “Yo, shut the _fuck_ up, Bokuto.” Kuroo rolled his eyes and handed him the pipe. “Do you smoke?”  
_Not really._ He was still caught up on the last part of whoever… _Bokuto?_ That’s what he had called him, at least. Whatever it was that Bokuto had said last. _His dick?_ As he took the pipe from Kuroo’s hands, he watched him from the corner of his eye. 

_Was Kuroo gay?_

Imitating what everyone else had done, he put his thumb over the smaller hole and brought the piece up to his lips as Kuroo held the lighter for him. Keiji did what he would have normally done whilst juuling: take a seven-second hit. As soon as he swallowed the smoke, he could immediately feel the difference. Not only did this absolutely burn his lungs, it tasted _horrifyingly_ awful. Violent coughs took over on impulse, smoke leaving his mouth with every painful breath. 

“ _Jesus,_ dude.”  
“Yeah! Take it easy, man.”  
If alcohol tasted like gasoline, smoking felt like sucking on the end of a tail-pipe. Desperate for anything to soothe the burning sensation in his throat, he resorted back to his solo cup. The gulp of… _what was it, rum?_ The gulp of rum went down hard, doing less than he had prayed for. 

Bokuto reached out to hand him a bottle of water. “First time with that too, huh?” 

With a wheezed thanks, he took the water and drank until the awful itch was gone. “I thought it would be like juuling.”  
A hand lightly hit his back. “Oh, so _that’s_ what you do.” Kuroo laughed and the hand stayed. 

Keiji thought back to what Bokuto said, once again. _Was he being homophobic?_ He wasn’t even one-hundred percent sure that was true. He didn’t even know Kuroo in the slightest, so why should it matter? People could be gay if they wanted to. 

The hand still hadn’t left yet. 

He’d become hyper-aware of every movement on the back of his shirt, every rub of his thumb, every shake from when he laughed, each microscopic movement of his hand was the only thing he was able to process. Before he knew it, the pipe was back in his hands. He held the lighter by himself this time, trying to prepare himself for the feeling of the smoke hitting his lungs.

It was still bad, but not as bad as the last time. There’s a simple satisfaction in this. As he gets ready to exhale, he feels the need to impress. From his practice outside the school with his juul, he attempts ghosting. The reactions of the people around him make it sound like it worked, even though he wasn’t used to the different feeling smoke had from vapour. Suddenly, that spot on his back goes cold. Kuroo claps, and for a split second he misses the touch. 

The thought disturbs him, and the next even more so. _Maybe he_ was _homophobic._ Keiji had sworn he never had issues with gay people before, but now that he was getting the feeling that Kuroo might be coming onto him, something burned in the bottom of his stomach. With a frown, he passes the pipe and looks down at his cup. Swirling the cup creates a mesmerising movement with the rum. 

“Want a tip?” Kuroo moved to face him, picking up his own cup. “If you want it to go a little easier-” 

* * *

“-you just take a sip of your chaser, right?” They were in the kitchen now. He watched him hold the can of coke. “Keep in in your mouth, take a shot, swallow, and take another sip of your chaser.”  
Kuroo demonstrated, scrunching his nose a little as it went down. “You don’t taste it as much.”  
He handed the can to Keiji, motioning to his cup. With a sigh, he followed the instructions he was given. As soon as the rum entered his mouth, his stomach practically churned. Swallowing quickly just reminded how much he hated the taste and the feeling of how it hit the back of his throat. A shiver went down his spine as he choked down the second gulp of his chaser. 

“Was that any better?”  
“Not at all,” he gasped, going back in for another drink from the can. “That was still awful.” 

“Okay, new plan-” 

* * *

“-so just plug your nose,” he instructed as the two sat out on the back patio, distanced from the group smoking joints, “and just gulp it down.”  
Keiji raised an eyebrow. “That seems kinda childish.” 

“Says the one who can’t drink normally.”  
Giving him a glaring side-eye, he eventually just gave up arguing. Pinching his nose and drinking was more awkward than he imagined, but to his surprise it actually… worked!  
“Woah,” he said with a quick cough. “I hardly felt that at all.”  
Kuroo elbowed him playfully. “See? There’s a way for everyone.”  
He nodded along, feeling a little different from earlier. His head felt a little heavier on his neck as he moved, enough to make it easily roll from shoulder to shoulder. _Shit._ Was this being high? Or drunk? There was no way he was either, it had to be placebo. Pinching his nose again, he finished what was left in his cup. He wouldn’t let go until after swallowing out of fear of tasting it again. All that he felt _really_ was in his stomach. A warm, fiery sensation that was almost calming in a way. 

“I’m sorry for what Bokuto said, by the way.” 

In confusion, he turned to look at him. Kuroo leaned his chin on the top of his palm, staring off into the dark backyard. 

“What?” He finally responded, forgetting about what had happened. Then out of nowhere, it came back to him. “Oh.”  
“I don’t- I, uh, I got the uh,” he waved his hand around, looking for the word, “ _vibe,_ that maybe you weren’t into it, so, I’ll stop.”  
_Ah. So it_ was _true._

The feeling in his stomach was back. It was different from the rum, lower and confusing. Keiji swirled the empty cup around uncomfortably. He wasn’t uncomfortable _because_ of Kuroo, however. He wasn’t uncomfortable from being flirted with. _God._ If anything, he was uncomfortable from almost liking it. 

“There’s this old song by some American band,” he finally starts, “that’s technically a Brazilian folk song, right? It’s about love and lemon trees, but I think the real interesting part is behind the words.” 

He rolls his head over to look at Kuroo, who now had an amused look on his face. 

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm. Even though this song was changed to sound all acoustic and soft with this American band, you can still clearly hear the Brazilian side to it. The beat is very… I dunno. You can hear it if you look.” He flipped the cup upside down, following the few drops left fall to the concrete ground. “And even with how interesting that is, I still listen to it for the lyrics. Something so simple as a lemon tree being compared to love, the one emotion no one can pinpoint with certainty. It’s madness.”  
“You like music then, I’m guessing.” He smiles slightly. 

Keiji frowned. “No. I live for it. It’s the only thing that can truly caption the human spirit.” 

“Beginning and end to all things.” Kuroo leaned his head back, finishing what was left in his cup. “Fancy another?” 

He glanced into the emptiness of his own. “Yeah.” 

* * *

Half an hour, he was poorly texting Kenma. Talking to him about the friend he’d made, asking where he was, and boasting about how well he could handle his liquor. There was definitely some error in that last one’s thought process, but he had the right spirit. After what felt like hours of being at that party without any contact with his roommate, he finally got a text back. 

**kenma:** are you drunk? 

**kenma:** where are you dude. we should leave if you’re gone

He wouldn’t consider himself gone. He was still at the party, after all. Laying across Kuroo’s lap in the same bedroom as before, he continued to attempt to text Kenma with many a typo. It wasn’t his fault, after all. The keyboard moved too much for him to rightly type out a full sentence. 

A soft cloud of mango fell down on his face from above. Keiji looked away from his phone, up toward Kuroo. With his own juul between this index and middle finger, he couldn’t help but think that he looked like a movie star from the fifties. 

“Drunk texting is never a good idea,” he smiled down at him. “I’m a firm believer and that and that alone.”  
His eyes wandered to the corner of the room. The guy from earlier, Bokuto, had a girl pressed against the wall with her legs around his waist. The two were intensely going at it. He was almost impressed. 

“Are they-”  
“Always like that?” Kuroo interrupted. “Tragically yes. The straights are always at it.” 

He huffed a laugh. “Is that tragic because it’s annoying or because they’re straight?” 

Kuroo smacked the back of his head gently. “Don’t be a bitch. I’m allowed to be annoyed that they can show affection normally but I can’t.” 

Keiji reached up for the juul, grateful when he didn’t hesitate to place it in his fingers. He brought it down to his lips, taking a drag and beginning his count. 

_One, two, three, four, five-_

The bedroom door opened, surprising Bokuto enough to nearly drop the girl. The two began to laugh at the way he caught her, bringing a smile for reasons he couldn’t explain. They didn’t seem like bad people; he couldn’t be aggravated at them like Kuroo was. 

_Six, seven._

He moved the juul from his mouth, chewing on the vapour before blowing an “O” up at Kuroo’s face. It was satisfying, the perfect circle. 

“ _There_ you are.”  
Somebody was pulling him up to his feet fast enough to make him dizzy. It took him a moment to recognize who was gripping his wrist. 

“Kenma?” He asked, furrowing his brows. “What did you do to your hair?” It had been bleached to a yellow-ish blonde, completely changing his normal look. 

“We were literally talking about it in the car.” Kenma noticed the other in the back, staring up at him expectantly. 

“Hey, man,” Kuroo said, albeit a bit weakly. 

He ignored him, instead pulling Keiji’s arm to go. “C’mon. You’re drunk and shouldn’t be around the company of _assholes._ ” There was a bite in his voice and suddenly he was walking back through the house with Kenma and Tora. 

Everything felt a bit blurred as they got from Point A to Point B, being the inside of Tora’s car. Kenma sat in the back with him, allowing him to lay across the seats with his head in his lap. As the car started, he ran a hand through Keiji’s hair and frowned down at him. 

“Are you crossed?” He tilted his head slightly. “Your eyes are really red.” 

“I don’t know what that means,” he murmured, turning his face down onto his thighs.  
“Whatever. If you’re gonna be sick, let me know, alright?”  
Keiji couldn’t feel sick, though. He just wanted to listen to that song and fade to sleep, thinking about lemon trees. 

* * *

That was the last night he ever expected to see Kuroo or Bokuto or anyone else except Kenma ever again. It was rare that he went out and did anything after leaving classes, so the chances of recognising people and having to deal with an awkward conversation. And after he’d woken up the next day feeling like absolute shit, he never planned on going back to a single party. His parents had been right for once. 

So here he sat as he always did: atop the metal picnic table outside of his dorm building that nobody else ever bothered to walk by. His fingers moved on their own without much thought, playing the bass section of that song he couldn’t get out of his head. It was fairly simple, he thought. Simple enough to play and think at the same time. 

“Yo, Akaashi!” 

Jumping out of his skin ends the peacefulness he felt whilst playing. Looking up, there’s a sense of dread in his stomach as he’s met exactly with who he planned on _never seeing again._ Kuroo smiles at him in a way that has almost a deeper meaning to it. In a mere few seconds, the feeling returns to his stomach. 

“Yo!” Bokuto is immediately at his side admiring the bass and moving his head everywhere to see it from different angles. “You didn’t tell us you played!” His head almost does a one-eighty before his body catches up with him. “Kuroo! He plays _bass_!” 

He wrinkles his nose. “I mean, yeah. I’m gonna be a music major.” 

“No wonder you were being such a nerd.” Kuroo moves to sit next to him. “You should’ve told me you played. We’ve been looking for a bass player.”  
“What,” he blinked, “like for a band?”  
Bokuto throws his hands up in the air. “ _Exactly!_ You gotta play with us, bro.” 

This isn’t really how he expected his Friday evening to go, but he preferred the burning sensation in his stomach to the sour regret he’d have if he’d said no. 

* * *

To much of his surprise, Bokuto _really_ knew how to play guitar. It was different from when Keiji himself played, less soft and sweet and more… well, more of everything. He sat on the floor of Bokuto’s dorm, watching him _shred_ on his guitar, amp turned probably too loud for a shared floor. He could already picture the complaints sent to the door, but none of it mattered. 

The sheer amount of talent he was witnessing was absolutely insane. 

With the last powerful strum, he held a pose dramatically before turning to his small audience with the goofiest grin he’d ever seen on someone. Especially after doing all _that._

“Whaddya think?” He said standing back up straight and wiping his forehead clean of sweat. “I’ve been working on my improvising a lot over the past year.”  
“You’re genius,” Keiji blurted out. “Have you written any songs?” 

The look on his face went from excited to blank so fast it scared him. “When I try to write music, I forget how to play.”  
“It’s his curse,” Kuroo laughs. “Can’t do two at once.” 

“Well, I’d like you to write your own drum pattern, hypocrite!”  
“I’m surprised you even _knew_ that word, bro.” 

“Shut up!” 

A pillow makes contact with Kuroo’s head, bouncing off unceremoniously. He laughs and Keiji feels his lungs constrict a little tighter. As if he could read thoughts, he turned to look at him. 

“Play something for us, yeah?” He pointed to the bass that sat against one of the twin beds. 

Albeit a bit nervous after Bokuto’s incredible performance, he still picked up his instrument. There was a buzz in his head as he tried to think of anything he could play to impress them. Nothing immediately came to mind, nothing except that stupidly simple song he couldn’t get out of his head. 

He started the simple melody, playing for a few bars before singing the melody under his breath. To his surprise, a beat began to follow after the first verse. Looking up, Kuroo had begun to drum onto a textbook, moving his lips as he kept time. With a small smile on his lips, he continued playing, voice still quiet. From his right, Bokuto had started playing as well. He definitely hadn’t heard the song, guessing a melody that went both with Keiji’s bassline and vocals. 

It started a little clunky, but they all managed to merge each sound into one. The smile stayed on his face, completely unable to get rid of it even if he wanted to. His lyrics came to an end and their music eventually faded out. The goofy grin came back to Bokuto’s face. 

“See? We could totally form a band!” 

_Huh. Maybe he had been right._ The satisfaction he felt from playing with others was greater than he thought. _Satisfying._ It was _satisfying._

He didn’t want to let that go. Something in his gut said that this could go further than any of them thought, something _past_ satisfying. Keiji hoped to god he was right. 

* * *

“Are you going to hang out with them again?” Kenma asked, watching him pack up his bass into its case. 

The frown came without him meaning to. “I don’t get why you have such a problem with it.”  
“I _don’t._ ” His defensive tone said otherwise. “I just… Kuroo is an asshole. I don’t get why you’d hang with him.”  
Keiji slung on the straps, already used to the heavy weight of his instrument. “He isn’t, though? He’s a good guy.”  
“You don’t know him.”  
_Oh?_ “And you do?” His eyebrows slanted towards Kenma. “If you’re gonna act jealous about me having friends then go out and make some of your own.” 

With that, he left the room not completely sure of what he had even said. 

* * *

“I don’t think you’re allowed to smoke in the dorms,” he said lamely as Bokuto blew a stream of smoke out of the open window. Several scented candles were burning to fight the heavy smell of skunk, but they still did very little. 

Suddenly, the joint had been passed into his hands. “Calm down, we do this all the time.” Bokuto smiled, slapping his hand onto his back. “Finish that up and we’ll start, ‘k?” 

Sighing, Keiji looked down at the third of the joint left. It was still fairly early in the day to be getting high, but _when in Rome…_ He took a drag on it, happier with how much easier it had become for him to smoke. There were very few embarrassing moments when he had to cough his lungs out now. Every hit made him feel cooler than he was. 

In the background of the room, he could hear Bokuto and his girlfriend laughing about something. He and Yukie were cute together, but sometimes it did bother him when he imagined it just being their makeshift band together. It had officially been two weeks since they decided to form a band, and since then they had not decided on any name, look, or music in general. 

The last of the joint disappeared in his last inhale, stubbing the burnt end into Bokuto’s ashtray. Even if he hadn’t been coughing, it was still slightly uncomfortable. Thankfully, Kuroo reached out with a water bottle. 

“Need some?”

“Yeah, thanks.”  
He sat next to the other boy, cross-legged on the floor. Kuroo had been reading over the same paper as he had each “meeting”. It had lots of scratched out names and fake album titles, everything just decidedly bad in nature. They should have been accomplishing more if they were as serious as they said, but every band meeting turned into a smoke session. 

“So,” Yukie said as she snatched a bag of chips from their snack pile, “still struggling with a name?” 

Bokuto sighed, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind. “We can’t decide on a sound. It makes things, like, eight-hundred times harder.” 

“Yeah,” Kuroo said, setting the paper down. “We can’t call ourselves something like ‘Knife Wave’ and then make soft, acoustic love songs, y’know?”

“You could, technically.” She shrugged. “It would stand out in the genre.”  
“But _we_ can’t.”  
Tapping his arms to let go, Yukie took a seat next to them and read over the paper as she opened the bag of chips. “Okay, then what sound do you want to have?”  
At the same time, all of them said something different. 

“Experimental.”  
“Rock!”  
“Jazz.”  
Bokuto turned to Kuroo with furrowed brows. “We’re absolutely _not_ starting a jazz band.”  
He threw up his hands. “What’s wrong with jazz? It has some of the best drum parts!”  
“Well, so does rock!”  
“Okay, well jazz is the best genre of music. It’s, like, the source of all life itself!” 

Keiji sat quietly, thinking to himself that experimental was the better choice. It was literally in the name that they could just experiment, but their bickering was already in too deep for him to join. Yukie seemed to notice this, giving him a sympathetic smile and placing both her hands on the two boys’ shoulders to sit them back down.  
“Maybe sound doesn’t have to be a specific genre,” she offers. “Maybe your sound can just be the vibe you guys give off. Do you at least have that in mind?” 

“Easy-going.”  
“ _Sexy._ ”  
“Brooding!”  
Maybe this was going to be a little harder than they thought. 

* * *

It was late hours of the night when Keiji had to sigh and rub his eyes. He’d been staring at his laptop for forever now, trying to finish his homework. Across the room, Kenma was also on a computer, only he was playing a game silently. 

Memories of what he said earlier haunted him. 

Sighing, he spun his chair around to face his roommate’s back. “Kenma.”  
The other boy didn’t react at all. 

“Kenma.” 

He continued to play his game, either ignoring him or- _wait._ Keiji picked up his phone, sending a quick text. On the other side of the room, there was a ping of a notification. Kenma picked up his phone, then turned around and pulled off his headphones. 

“If you’re gonna go to bed I’ll turn the brightness down.” After saying it in a monotone voice, he moved his hands to put the headphones back on. 

“Wait! Kenma, wait.”  
His roommate paused, hands still on his headphones. “Uh, yeah?”  
“I’m, uh, sorry,” he started, rubbing a hand through his hair, “for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it.”  
“Oh.” Kenma shrugged. “It’s fine, I guess. You were right.” He continues to pull the headphones on. 

“Oh! One more thing.”  
This time, he looks a little annoyed. “What?”  
Keiji swallowed hard. “What kind of music do you like?” 

He paused, looking up to think. After a few seconds of silence, he finally shrugged. “I dunno. I like jazz a lot. It’s, like, the source of life itself.” With that, he turned back to the game. 

_Oh._ The words opened a pit of sorts in his stomach that he couldn’t explain. He had heard that before somewhere. 

_Huh._

* * *

“Akaashi, stay still, babe.”  
He couldn’t help that it was nearly impossible to be a mannequin as somebody drew lines with cold liquid across his eyelids. Yukie was sitting with him on the side of the room as the other two tinkered with the sound of a song they both liked. Transposing it from major to minor, then back to major. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, struggling to keep his eyelids from trembling. _Was that a thing?_ It was definitely a mistake to let her practice eyeliner on him, but there wasn’t really any going back now. She’d been painting him, or whatever, for at least twenty minutes now. 

“Bokuto, you’re offbeat,” Yukie said softly, not even turning to look at the other boys. “Okay, open your eyes.”  
Her boyfriend squawked in surprise in the background as Keiji finally opened his eyes to look up at her. His chin had been resting on his arms this whole time, he was thankful to finally move positions. 

“Wow, Akaashi. Such a _babe_!” Kuroo said in a playful tone, giving a shitty wolf-whistle afterwards. 

It made his face go red at the statement. He felt uncomfortable again suddenly, the same feeling he had at the party. Yukie held up a small mirror to show him. 

“Not my best, but I’m getting better, I think.” 

He was a little surprised to see himself. The dark eyeliner curved up into a sharp wing on the upper lid, then a smaller wing inverted on the lower lash line. Both gave the impression of him having eyes a lot bigger than he really did, and the worst part was… it didn’t even look bad. 

“Do you have makeup remover,” he asked up at her, voice almost shaking. “I don’t think I should wear this kind of stuff around.” 

She pouted. “Why? It looks good on you?”  
“I’m a guy.” 

With a roll of her eyes, Yukie sighed and gave him the makeup removing pads. “Wow, way to be progressive.” 

_It wasn’t her fault._ He wiped desperately at his right eye, mirror in hand. The black smudged around his eyes as he kept trying. It looked good, it looked _so_ good. It wasn’t her fault. It was his own. The entire time Keiji looked in the mirror, he could only picture his parents going stone cold. Cold and turned away because he wasn’t their perfect son anymore. 

It wasn’t _fair._

The other boys booed at him jokingly, but that discomfort crept back. Not discomfort from her, or from him, or from the red ring around his pupils. Just the complete discomfort from the fact that he was _enjoying_ this. 

No, it wasn’t fair. It was suffocating. 

* * *

Keiji hummed to himself, flicking up the end of his felt-tipped liquid eyeliner. On the first try, he had gotten it perfectly, just as he always did. The playlist on his phone stopped onto a specific folk song, making him pause. Staring at himself in the mirror, he got the briefest feeling of nausea, almost. It took less than a second for him to switch to the next song, not particularly feeling like thinking about lemon trees or love. 

A knock came to the door, Kuroo peeping in after halfway opening it. “Show starts in ten minutes, man. Ready?” 

He gave one last look in the mirror, at the perfect eyeliner that framed his eyes. With a small smile, he picked up the tiny square of paper on the vanity and placed it on his tongue. His platform shoes made him taller than usual, being completely eye to eye with Kuroo. The small smile evolved into a grin as he stood and paused in the doorway to look at him. 

“Ready.” 


	2. track two - first split

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry again im so ass at sticking to an upload sched

It becomes nearly an everyday thing to hang around in Bokuto’s dorm. On his days with classes, Keiji finds himself spacing out and instead picturing himself learning a new bassline for some song that Bokuto wants them to play. That was how things worked. It was more of a hassle when they started arguing over what kind of songs, so giving Bokuto the creative control was the easier option. The idea of being an actual band had almost been forgotten in the second month. If anything, they were just friends that liked to hang around laughing as they played covers of songs. And besides, none of them were cut out for stardom anyway. 

“Akaashi, listen.” Bokuto presses play on his laptop “The bass in this song is good.” 

The two sat against his twin-sized bed leaning down to listen to the music. It starts out a little softer until the drums kick in and everything intensifies. Bokuto closes his eyes, bobbing his head so softly that Keiji almost doesn’t even notice. 

It’s an interesting song, he thinks. The vocals are less melodic, going back and forth from yelling and not. He has to agree with him, though. He listens a little further into the music, paying attention to the simple bassline that starts more and more to grow on him. It’s nostalgic, almost, and yet he’s never heard the song before. 

Bokuto likes a lot of rock and punk influenced music. He thinks he’s figured out his thinking by now. To him, it’s the instrumental that’s important. The vocals and the lyrics always come second to him. Even now, with his eyes closed, Keiji can see him ever so slightly moving his fingers, imagining himself to be the one playing the music. 

It makes him smile. 

The song ends before he realises, and Bokuto’s eyes fly open. Not wanting to be caught staring, Keiji flits his eyes down to the keyboard of the laptop. 

“Whaddya think? Isn’t it kinda cool?” He grins. “I totally think we could learn it. Well, I guess by ear. I couldn’t find any sheet music.” 

“That’s fine. Play it one more time?” Keiji gets up, moving to get his bass. Bokuto waits patiently, rocking back and forth in his criss-crossed sitting position. 

From across the room, Kuroo clears his throat. “Thanks guys, I’m here too.” He’s sitting at Bokuto’s desk, scrolling on his phone. 

“You need to buy a new drum kit! It’s your fault you didn’t bring yours from home!” 

He looks up at Bokuto. “I’m not about to drag an entire drum kit to your room every single time you want to play something.” 

“Yeah,” Keiji muses as he plays a few chords to warm up his fingers, “I don’t think your roommate would particularly like that either.”   
Bokuto’s roommate was never present for good reason. If not for the music, then most likely for the constant guests and haze of skunk that liked to sit in the air. Honestly, he wasn’t sure if he had ever even met him. 

“We don’t _have_ to practice here! We would find a bigger practice space. ” He threw up his arms, exasperated. “We could store our stuff there.”   
“Okay, but with what money?” 

“I don’t know!” 

He decides to ignore them, pressing play and listening to the song again. It’s a little hard to pay attention with the other two arguing in the background, but eventually he gets a basic understanding of the chord progression. Keiji begins to play along when he can, but there are still sections where he has to pause and listen again. It’s easy for him to tune everything else out when he focuses. The rest of the world just muffles and fades away as he closes his eyes. His fingers find the chords blindly after his hours upon hours of playing in his free time. 

A hand slaps down onto his shoulder, immediately pulling him out of his zen. Keiji jumps, messing up the chord and turning to see both Bokuto and Kuroo standing over him. 

“What?” He asks, leaning back to pause the music. 

The two smile at each other before looking back down at him. “Wanna see something cool?” 

There’s definitely very little he could do to refrain from actually doing that. It didn’t take long for their train of thought to change stations so drastically. With two against one, Keiji constantly found himself in situations he didn’t sign up for. 

The first would be the hike. 

Bokuto  _ swore  _ he knew where he was going, but after an hour of aimlessly wandering the woods behind campus, he’d begun to question his leadership. As he attempted to navigate with the compass app on his phone, Kuroo and Keiji trailed behind at a slower pace. 

_ My feet hurt.  _

_ I don’t go hiking.  _

_ I hate hiking.  _

_ Why couldn’t we just stay back at the dorm?  _ He internally grumbled to himself.  _ Why couldn’t we just play music? I was having fun before.  _

Kuroo huffed a laugh to himself, switching Keiji’s attention from his list of complaints. “What?” He asked. 

“It’s just kinda funny.” His head rolled over to glance at him from an angle. “He and I definitely didn’t walk this long yesterday.”   
He had no reason to feel kind of jealous that they hung out without him, but he did anyway. “Where are we even going?” 

“A cool place we found yesterday. I think it’s abandoned.”   
_Great._

As soon as he said abandoned, Keiji’s vision was filled with spiderwebs, weak infrastructure, and himself falling through the floorboards of some haunted house. The idea of breaking a bone and explaining to his parents at the hospital how he had gotten himself into that situation was… less than pleasant. 

“Oh! I think I see it!” Bokuto exclaimed, pointing ahead. Rather than there being a haunted house, or a haunted hospital, or a haunted _anything,_ there was… not really anything at all.   
They walked into a clearing of sorts, one that had an _obvious_ path on the opposite end of where they stood. A large fire pit stood in the centre, with large logs of wood sitting upright around the edges of the circle. Here and there sat a few picnic tables. 

“I  _ told  _ you we’d get there.” 

“Yeah, after wandering aimlessly for an hour.” 

“We still got here, though!”   
“Hardly! Did you see Akaashi? He’s looked like he’s wanted to genuinely pass away for the past thirty minutes.” 

Keiji tuned them out, taking a few steps towards one of the picnic tables. Running his hand over the grain and coming away with dust and a generally gross feeling, he came to the conclusion that it hadn’t been used in a long time. 

“Kinda cool, right?” Kuroo came up from behind, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s an old campsite that stopped being used after the 90s.” 

It was a little hard to listen to him. Kuroo’s touch was different from Bokuto’s. It was always light and cautious, like he was trying to not scare him off. He tried really hard for it to not bother him, but it always did. It made his stomach churn, but not like he was sick. 

“It’s perfect, right?” Bokuto jumped onto the top of the table, surprising him enough to step back. The touch on his shoulder disappeared. “It’s ours for the taking, and just like pirates…” He held up one finger, waiting for them to finish his sentence. 

Both Kuroo and Keiji stared at him. 

“You buried treasure?” He guessed, it being the only logical sounding answer. 

Not to his surprise, their self-proclaimed leader nodded with the biggest grin. “Exactly! Except, I guess we didn’t really bury it. Right, Kuroo?” He climbs off the table, pulling on both of their shirt sleeves to move towards the fire pit. 

“Oh, right. I almost forgot.” 

“Right? It’s a great hiding spot.”   
“Which side was it on?”   
Staring up at the sky, Keiji found himself growing a small bit concerned about the setting sun. Wasn’t it really dangerous to walk around the woods at night? His parents had warned him about that before. 

“Hey, guys?” 

Kuroo turned around, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?” In his hand were two bottles of liquor. Or wine. 

_ Was there a difference?  _

Keiji was probably the worst person ever at being a college student, but he couldn’t help not knowing at the same time. Bokuto tossed him another bottle, only hardly catching it in his hands. Looking down, the label read “ _ jager _ ”. 

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “I- never mind.”

Walking forward, Kuroo frowned down at the bottle. “Nah, he won’t like that one.” He took the bottle from his hands, replacing it with a bottle of vodka instead. “Wouldn’t recommend jager for a second-time drinker.” 

The comment stung a little, but in retrospect, he was probably right. Watching both Bokuto and Kuroo open their respective bottles and cheersing, he felt a little out of place. Smoking was one thing, smoking he got. Smoking was just like vaping, albeit more painful. Drinking was still unfamiliar territory. 

Sticking out bothered him just as much though, so he unscrewed the cap. Instantly, the strong smell of alcohol hit his nose. With a sigh, Keiji pinched his nose and lifted the bottle to his lips, taking in as much as he could. After swallowing, he felt it jump back up. 

“Chaser,” he gagged and pulled at Kuroo’s sleeve, “do we not have chasers?”   
“Shit.” Bokuto smacked his forehead. “I’m so sorry, Akaashi! I meant to bring one for you, I _swear_ I did.” 

He wants to cry. 

_ No.  _

_ It’s fine.  _

_ If they can be big boys I can too.  _

He shuts his eyes tight, letting the shiver pass through him before the initial bad feeling goes away. It’s awful, not immediately having a soda to wash away the taste. Kuroo looks at him with a sympathetic look as Bokuto continues his string of apologies. He takes a sip from the bottle of jager, not showing an ounce of a reaction towards it. 

“What’s that one like?” Keiji gently pulls it from his hand to look at the label again. “It can’t be that bad.”   
“You can try it,” he shrugs, “but if you need a chaser for vodka I can guarantee you won’t love it.” 

With a scowl, he takes a quick sniff from the top. It’s surprising and completely unlike the vodka. Almost like… “Does this have gingerbread in it?” 

“I doubt it, but I’d recommend pretending it does.”   
He puts the top to his lips, momentarily thinking about how Kuroo’s had been there just prior, and takes a swig. The amount he holds in his mouth is a mistake when he realises that it does _not_ taste like gingerbread. It takes a minute, but he finally manages to swallow. 

“Oh, god,” he frowns, “that was truly terrible.” 

“To be fair I warned you.” 

“You did.”   
“I did.”   
The feeling in his stomach comes again, he can’t ignore it. Thankfully, though, Bokuto hops in between them. “I came up with a game while you guys were flirting.”   
A “What?” flies out of his mouth faster than he meant, and he can’t miss the way Kurro flinches at his tone. 

“So somebody picks a song, right? A song you don’t think the rest of us know, and you play part of it and we have to remember the note or the beat enough to go another few bars. If you mess up, you drink!” He looks proud of himself, already pulling up a playlist of songs. 

“Oh, Christ.” Kuroo pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is a suicide game. Your music is impossible to carry on the first try.”   
It’s too late. Bokuto starts a song with thrashing drums and more yell-singing. Despite Kuroo’s initial disdain, it doesn’t take him long to match the pattern on his bottle. There are hiccups here and there, but for a first-time listen, he has it down pretty well. 

Keiji suddenly finds himself thankful for a nearly perfect pitch. Blocking out Kuroo’s drumming and the rest of the music, he searches for the bassline in the rest of the  _ very  _ loud song. Under the vocals and  _ insane  _ guitar, he finally locates it. For a rock song, he finds it oddly similar to that of  _ many  _ disco patterns, but he’s still able to pinpoint each note and its relevance to the rhythm of the song. 

Finally Bokuto pauses the song and points to him. Kuroo pauses, waiting for him to go. It’s a little embarrassing, but not wanting to risk being the only one drinking, he hums it out anyway. 

“Wow. You’re really good at that.” Bokuto raises his eyebrows toward him, impressed by how well Keiji was able to retain the exact melody of his part. “I thought you’d just go for the guitar.” 

“Jeez, dude.” Kuroo sighs. “That’s so much cooler than my bit.” 

He shakes his head with a frown. “Without the drums there’d be no rhythm, and without the rhythm we wouldn’t be able to keep time and it would send everyone else spiralling downward. You’re the heartbeat of the band.” Keiji desperately wants to say his face isn’t heating up. He  _ desperately  _ wishes for it not to. No matter how hard he tries, it still happens. There’s a deeper meaning in his tone that he hates, one that he doesn’t want to come out. It still does. 

That deeper meaning is lost on Bokuto, insisting for Kuroo to either drum or take a drink. Kuroo smiles at him instead, a real and genuine smile that he raises his bottle to. 

“Amen to that, yeah?”   
A smile comes onto his own as Keiji lifts his bottle as well. 

“Amen.” 

It becomes common knowledge later in the game that Keiji is unfairly good at this. Everyone else has taken shots due to messing up, only making it easier to mess up, and yet the only drink he’s taken at the beginning was because of that deeper fucking meaning that he couldn’t get out of his head. 

“C’mon, Akaashiiii,” Bokuto whines as he throws his arms around the back of his shoulders, into that of an awkward hug. “It’s so unfair, that you’re-” he hiccups. Whereas Keiji had been fantastic at this game, he was probably the worst. “You have to drink with us,  _ pleaaaase! _ ” 

Trying to get out of his grasp, Keiji found himself almost close to laughing. It’s not like it was  _ his  _ fault Bokuto was bad at his own game. Swatting him away, he finally raised the bottle back up to his mouth to drink. He used the same method every time, refusing to do any different. 

He found it a little freeing to do this in what felt like the middle of nowhere. The light was starting to disappear in the sky, night settling in. He wasn’t at the party, confused and scared of his surroundings. It was just the three of them, being stupid and sitting around in this clearing. High school had never been exciting like this. The most he got out of it was probably just a nicotine dependency from his friends. 

But being free felt different. Being free felt like balancing up on a log and taking a swig of shitty vodka, then instantly regretting it. Being free was running a hand through his hair after the third shot, then the fourth out of Kuroo’s bottle once more. 

Keiji didn’t even realise it had started to hit until he tripped over his own shoelaces, falling forwards onto the forest floor. The impact felt like it happened three or four times, or maybe not  _ felt.  _ He just saw it happen in an echo. With a groan, he turned onto his back. It took a few blinks for his eyes to fully focus, staring up from the ground towards the night sky with some revelation.

He could see the stars out here. 

“Yo,” Kuroo stuck his hand down towards him. “You okay?”   
Instead of taking the hand to pull himself up, Keiji took it and pulled down. “Look,” he said. “Look up.” 

Kuroo fell next to him with little grace, taking the time to shift until comfortable. “Up at what?” 

“The sky.” 

With no response, he continued to stare up at the stars. It was so rare that he got to see them. First of all, he never had the time. Nobody ever reminded him to drop what he was doing and look out the window. And even if he did, the sky was always dull from the city lights. The only time he ever really saw stars was in the summertime, staying with his grandparents in the countryside. 

“There are stars,” he correctly noted. “That’s cool.”   
He hums a response, staying quiet as Kuroo went on to talk about a song of sorts. It was a little hard to pay attention as he began talking about some long jazz song and how he’d been thinking about how they could have totally learned it if Bokuto wasn’t so intent on rock. That was less his fault and more the vodka’s, his train of thought currently stalling at the station. 

“It’s just unmatchable,” he said. “Like, imagine bringing that music back into the modern consumption of music.” 

Keiji props himself up on an elbow, looking down at him. 

“Or, really, if we wanted to be a real band and write music we could do fusion. We could, like, _blend_ shit and actually make it _work._ ”   
Maybe less at _him_ and more at his lips, moving as he spoke. 

“But then again, I don’t know how to write music. I can play, but writing is something else, y’know?” Kuroo turned his head, looking up at him. “I still get the feeling we could actually make something genuine. Authentic, I guess.” 

He can’t pretend to listen anymore. As he shifts his weight over to place both hands on either side of Kuroo’s head, he stares down at him from above. There’s a pause and he can see the gears in his head stop turning down below. 

_ Don’t do it.  _

_ This is wrong. _

_ Fuck it- just do it.  _

Leaning down, Keiji kisses him, closed mouth. It doesn’t occur to him that he’s never kissed anybody before. He doesn’t know what to do, really, and the only thought he has is that he wants to. That feeling he gets whenever Kuroo touches him drives him to take part in what’s probably one of the most awkward kisses ever. 

To his surprise, he lightly pushes him off. “You’re kissing me?” He asks, sitting up on his elbows. 

He falls back into a sitting position on top of Kuroo’s pelvis. “Yeah.” The sudden movement makes him dizzy for a few seconds. 

Kuroo rubs his eyes slowly for a second, dropping them in a loopy manner. His head rolls back before sighing. “Yeah, alright.” He sits back up, putting a hand to Keiji’s cheek and kissing him again. 

This time is different. It isn’t the awkward smashing of mouth-to-mouth like before. He finds it a little panic-inducing, unable to follow at first. After trying to mimic whatever Kuroo did, it stopped being as scary and they could fall into a rhythm. His heartbeat was loud in his chest, the feeling in his stomach growing stronger rather than going away like he’d hoped. 

With a bite of his bottom lip, Kuroo’s mouth is no longer on his and instead trails down to his neck. The sensation throws him off guard and he fists at his shirt to stay balanced. A hand travels under his own, holding him by the hip. The grip was warm and he could feel his thumb rubbing up and down on the side of his waist. 

It was fun, really. 

Keiji liked the attention, even if it was from a boy. 

_ Well, especially because it was a boy.  _

He hummed a pleased response as Kuroo bit down onto his collarbone, closing his eyes and letting the steady feeling of his thumb keep everything to a steady beat. 

_ A boy.  _

A slight frown appeared as the workers in his train of thought shoveled coal into the firebox. The boiler heated up, powering the steam engine as the wheels began to turn. Everything started at a slow pace. 

_ Kuroo is a boy.  _

The railway began to move up the hill, still slow, but getting slightly quicker. 

_ I like Kuroo.  _

It paused at the top before rocketing down the other side. 

_ I like a boy.  _

His eyes fly open and Keiji shoves him off,  _ hard.  _ Scooting backwards desperately, the feeling in his stomach turns sour. 

“Woah, woah,” Kuroo puts his hands up, “are you okay?”   
“Don’t- don’t touch me,” he gets out, stumbling to his feet. “Don’t _touch_ me.” 

“Akaashi!” 

Ignoring the concerned yell towards him, he attempts to run. It’s more of a speed walk with his hands running up through his hair. Panic bubbled up into his lungs, into his heart rate. This wasn’t right, he wasn’t right.  _ God,  _ this was so  _ wrong. _

He trips over the bottle jager, falling forwards before somebody catches him. 

“Akaashi?” Bokuto, previously talking on the phone with Yuki, holds him by the chest with one arm. “What’s going on?” 

Nausea from the motion, from the kiss, from the liquor- it’s all too much. Before he could force it down, Keiji began to choke on the vomit that surged out of his mouth and onto Bokukto’s shirt. He coughed out the rest, rancid acidity burning his throat. It was sobering enough as he fell forward onto a puke-free area of his shoulder. There was a quiet conversation of Bokuto saying goodbye and hanging up before awkwardly putting his other hand on his back, rubbing slowly as if to comfort him. 

The worst part should have been over, but he couldn’t help when his eyes blurred from tears. His stomach hurt, his throat burned, his head was spinning, and he had never been more disgusted with himself in his entire life. 

There were footsteps from behind as a soft-spoken argument started. He couldn’t focus on it, instead squeezing his eyes shut and trying to wake up in his bed like all of this was some horrible nightmare. 

“He kissed me first! I didn’t do anything!” 

“Kuroo, just _leave_ it! He was just confused.”   
It hurts, right in his chest. Right where his heart is. 

Bokuto lets go of him to peel off the vomit-soaked shirt, tossing it onto the nearest picnic table with a sick slap. “C’mon, I’ll take you back to the dorms.” He turns to Kuroo. “Stay here, ‘k?” 

There’s no response from behind, and Keiji doesn’t particularly feel like turning around with red, teary eyes. Bokuto’s arm returns to his shoulders, pulling him along into a slow walking pace. 

“Did you know owls are super far-sighted?” He says when they exit the campgrounds, walking on a clear path they avoided earlier. “They have incredible vision for things far away, but just like some people they can’t see much up close.” 

He’s tired and upset and has no idea what he’s talking about. “Where is this coming from?” Keiji asks dryly, his voice croaking. 

“I’m trying to distract you.” Bokuto is blunt when he speaks; he can feel him shrugging. “Anyway, I was thinking that if we tried hard enough, we could make glasses for domestic owls.” 

“I don’t think domestic owls are a thing.” 

“They  _ are!  _ I see videos of them all the time!” 

They continue to talk about glasses for owls, and the logistics of eye-tests for getting proper prescriptions. Keiji doesn’t talk much at first, but by the time they’re reaching the dorm rooms, he’s no longer crying and instead concerned over how many tests it would take to get for an owl to get the perfect glasses. He doesn’t realise it, but Bokuto’s distraction method worked. 

At the back doors of their building, Keiji pauses and turns to look at him. “Thank you for walking me back.” 

He smiles, giving him a thumbs up. “Least I could do. Everyone has their bad nights. Just shower and go to bed, everything is always better in the morning.”   
“You’re right.” Opening the door he starts to walk in, ready to end the night with those two words. He stops when reconsidering that Bokuto walked him all the way back without being forced to. Keiji turns around. “Thanks again. Sorry for, uh, ruining your shirt.” 

Bokuto smiles with a shrug. “It’s just a shirt. I’ll see ya’ later, ‘k?” With a wave, he starts to jog back towards the direction they came from. 

After he disappears from sight, Keiji finally goes inside. The walk up the stairs is unnervingly quiet, his footsteps echoing in the concrete space. Normally, other students would be going up and down, making him feel more like another person and less singled out. 

Walking alone singled him out, and he hadn’t had much of that recently. 

By the time he reaches his room, he doesn’t bother greeting Kenma, sitting in the dark with his computer. He strips himself of his own vomit-stained clothing and climbs into the squeaky twin-sized bed, ready to go to fall asleep and forget about the real world. 

* * *

  
  


The coin spins fast enough to look like a moving ghost of a sphere on his desk before slowing and clattering down onto his desk. Keiji watches it become still before picking it up and spinning it once again. It’s the only sound in his quiet apartment, every fall feeling louder than the last. 

His eyes flicker back to the pad of paper where half of a song lies. He’d begun writing the lyrics maybe an hour ago, growing distracted by how interesting watching a coin spin could be. 

That was a total lie, but it was better than admitting defeat. 

A new noise almost startles him. His phone buzzes from a phone call. Keiji slaps his hand down on the moving coin, and picks up. 

“Yeah?” He asks, looking down at the coin as he flips it through his fingers. 

“ _ Are you busy?”  _ Kuroo’s voice asks through the phone. 

Keiji glances at the paper. “Not particularly, why?” 

“ _ Bo wants to go out, you down?”  _

Both of them know it’s pointless to even ask. He always says the same thing, no matter the circumstance. “Yeah, why not. Give me twenty and I’ll be over.” He hangs up without waiting for a response because that’s how their phone calls always go. 

Getting up from his desk sends an instant reminder to his back about how long he had been sitting for. Keiji groans at the ache before popping his back and heading to the bathroom. His eyeliner sits on the counter like it always does, ready to be picked up and used. He leans forward on the sink to look in the mirror as he carefully starts the line, flicking the end up with care to create the precise wing. He’s satisfied, moving to the other side. 

It never takes him long to get dressed or really “get ready” to go places. There were two things that Keiji was aware of when it came to his looks: no matter what he wore, he didn’t look bad and he always looked tired. Dark, mysterious people that looked tired  _ always  _ got hit on at bars. All he needed to do was stand around looking bored like he always did, and someone would always buy him a drink. It was just the way his life worked. 

On the way to Bokuto and Kuroo’s shared apartment, he put on his headphones and turned on music. He needed a source of inspiration, especially for the current song. Keiji was writing lyrics in French, his third language. It was difficult, but he was doing his best. Listening to French hip hop was his current solution when it came to better understanding the rhythm pattern to speaking the language and how he could write it. Reading the language was easy, but it was hard to practice speaking it in Japan. He’d gotten back from France as of last year, and since then he rarely utilised conversational French. 

True to his word, Keiji arrived at the apartment right as twenty minutes passed. With his spare key, he unlocked the door and walked towards the elevator. Hands in his pockets, he stared up at the ceiling the entire thirty seconds it took to get to their floor. He stared at the floor the other half of the minute as he made his way to their door. Everything was routine, everything was scheduled, no matter how sudden plans became. 

Keiji was twenty-two and lived vicariously through his habits. 

The door swings open soon after he knocks, revealing Bokuto. He pulls him into a quick hug, before releasing him into the apartment. “Akaashi! You’re not on anything yet, right?” 

He hummed a vague response, pulling a tin out of his pocket.  _ Yeah.  _ There was that habit as well. Kuroo walked into the front area, sliding on his shoes. Keiji watched him from the corner of his eye as he unrolled the wax paper holding his squares of LSD. This was their routine as always. He’d walk to their place, they’d take the LSD, and then they’d go out to whatever club Bokuto had scouted out that week. 

It was easy, really, to shut up during the walk and listen. Bokuto and Kuroo talked about how he should re-dye his silver tips to another colour. 

“I dunno, what if it looks ugly before we do our album shoot?” 

“Bo, it’s not gonna be ugly. Plus nobody’s gonna see the album if you don’t  _ finish your fucking songs. _ ” 

Bokuto frowned, turning to walk backwards as he looked at Keiji. “What colour do you think, Akaashi?” 

They’d been walking for a good fifteen minutes, and it had already begun to kick in. He thought for a moment, looking up towards the darkening sky. 

“Blue.” 

* * *

It had been around two weeks since he had hung out with Bokuto and Kuroo. The idea of seeing them again made him want to pass out, die, resuscitate, then pass out  _ again,  _ and decompose into the ground. Staying in the dorm and playing songs he already knew in all of his free time was the best option. All he ever did was go to class, do his work, and tinker with his bass. By the third week, someone intervened. 

“You look like a loser, rotting away like that.” Kenma said, throwing on a hoodie despite it not even being cold out yet. 

A scowl made its way onto his face. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yes, you do.” The sound of footsteps came from behind, stopping once he reached the side of his desk. Keiji refused to look at him. “Look, if you’re gonna mope around because those guys are the worst, at least pretend we were friends before.”   
_They’re not the worst._

_ I’m the worst.  _

“How do you suppose I’d do that?” He asks dryly, moving his fingers to strum a chord. 

To his surprise, Kenma grabs the neck of his bass, ruining the sound. “C’mon. My friends are getting together tonight in the other dorm building.” He lets go. “ _ And,  _ they’re objectively better than those two.” 

Sighing, Keiji leans his head backwards until he’s looking up at the ceiling.  _ I wonder what Kenma would think if I told him.  _

“I’m not asking.” 

With a roll of the eyes, he finally sets the bass down and gets up from the chair. “Fine, but I don’t really feel like going to a party.”   
They both tug on their shoes before leaving the room. Kenma shrugs. “I wouldn’t call it a party.” 

He hadn’t lied, exactly. Kenma’s friends (or at least some of them) lived in a larger dorm in another building. Walking in felt much different from walking into the party. Not only was he in a room full of strangers, he was the  _ only  _ one that wasn’t friends with them. The only familiar face was Tora, who was currently putting Kenma in a headlock. 

After pushing him off, his gaze went to the floor as he nodded towards Keiji. “This is Akaashi. Akaashi, you know Tora.” He points to the other people in the room. “This is Fukunaga, Yahaba, Watari, and Shirabu.” Kenma’s nose wrinkles. “Oh, and Kyoutani.” 

A head pops up from the couch. “Why the  _ fuck  _ did you say my name like that?” The boy practically  _ snarls.  _ His hair is dyed, matching with both Kenma and Tora, but his is more…  _ avant garde,  _ is the word that comes to mind. 

It’s a little mean, but Keiji understands Kenma’s tone. 

“Because it’s you.” The blunt way he speaks catches Akaashi off-guard, but it’s nothing new. He turns back towards him. “Anyway, everyone here is chill. You’ll fit in.” 

One of the boys with lighter hair waves him over. “You any good at card games?” 

Keiji turns to look at Kenma, for permission almost, but he’s already walking away with Tora. “Uh, I suppose.”   
“So _formal_.” The boy pats the space on the carpet next to him. “C’mon, I’ll deal you in.” 

He nods, taking a seat. “What, um- what’re you playing?”   
Kyoutani (the only name that really stuck in his mind) exhales loudly from his nose in annoyance. “The worst kind of go-fish.”   
“Fuck _off,_ ” the other boy, the one with bangs, rolls his eyes. “We’re playing with pairs, not books.” 

“Is that not how you’re supposed to play?” Keiji furrows his brow as cards are put in his hands. “With books?”   
Most of the circle groans, the first boy falling backwards as Kyoutani exclaims an, “ _I told you so!_ ” of sorts. Across from him, the boy with a shaved head laughs and puts a hand up to his eye before dropping his cards on the floor. 

“You weren’t here when we argued about this for, like, half an hour.” He leans forward with an outstretched hand. “Akaashi, right? I’m Watari.”   
He shakes his hand, internal levels of social panic going down. “Yeah, nice to meet you.” 

“You’re the Akaashi that was hanging out with Kuroo and Bokuto, right?” The boy with bangs asks, shuffling his hand of cards. 

Keiji nods, frowning slightly. He didn’t even  _ know  _ this guy, so why did he know him? “I did for a bit. Kenma was really condescending about it.” 

“Ha,” Kyoutani looks at him as he hangs upside down from the couch seat, “that’s ‘cuz he hates Kuroo.” 

“Hates is a strong word,” the first guy hums. “I’d just say he holds a really strong grudge.” 

“But why?” He finally decides to ask. The idea of it hitting a little close to home suddenly occurs to him. 

_ Shit.  _ Maybe what happened three weeks ago happened to Kenma too. He’d never suspected Kenma to be gay, though.  _ Was that rude?  _ But there was virtually no way to tell, not really. Anybody in this room could be like him. 

_ No.  _

_ Not like him.  _

_“_ Kuroo used to hang with us too. Shirabu, got any sevens?” Watari nods towards Bangs, who asks him to “ _go fuck himself_ ” as he hands over a few cards. “Anyway, he and Kenma were really close, so even though he was older he stuck around with us. Then he got closer with the cool people and dipped. Sorta cut off ties with us, I guess.”   
Someone clears their throat from behind. Keiji turns to see Kenma with his hands in his hoodie pocket. A scowl takes over his face. “Are you guys gonna try it or not?” 

Everyone murmurs a response of sorts, getting up and following Kenma into a kitchen. Albeit confused, Keiji does the same until his friend snaps. 

“Shit!” He turns to look at him with a sorry expression. “We planned this before I invited you. I don’t have extra.”   
“Extra what?” 

He gets bopped on the shoulder lightly. “Hey, it’s all cool.” It’s the boy without bangs. “We can share.”   
_Share WHAT?_

“Um, thanks.” His voice embarrassingly trails off, obviously looking for his name. 

“Yahaba.” He offers up with a smile. 

“Right.” Keiji’s eyes flicker down. “Thanks.”   
On the dorm kitchen counter sit seven styrofoam cups. Tora picks one up, looking down into whatever’s inside before taking a sip. _What, is it just alcohol then?_

“It took a while to get enough for all of us,” he notes. “Oh wow, that actually tastes better than I thought it would.” 

Yahaba grips his collarbone tightly as he chugs down whatever is in his cup. “Okay,” he gasps after swallowing, “your turn.” 

“What is it?” He asks as the cup is placed in his hands. To his surprise, its colour is purple and when given a closer look, they are actually  _ two _ stacked cups. 

“Magic syrup. Trust me, you’ll love it.”   
Despite Yahaba’s words, he frowns a little. With hesitation, he holds it up to his lips and pinches his nose on instinct. It tastes like soda almost, grape soda with something strong in it. He’s surprised even further after swallows, going in for another gulp. 

“See? There you go,” he grins. Keiji hands the cup back to him and he drinks it again. 

There isn’t the same feeling in the back of his throat like when he drinks vodka. It’s a little concerning, not knowing what it is, but it’s also exciting. With Kuroo and Bokuto it was always smoking, hardly even drinking. Getting high had never affected him that much, just relaxed him as they played music together. 

_ Together.  _

He’s still thinking about it about forty minutes later. He sat on the couch watching Kenma kick Watari’s ass in some video game. If it was any other Saturday before he had messed everything up, he would likely be playing some shitty punk rock song in Bokuto’s dorm, laughing at how  _ stupid  _ the world was. He’d look across the room at Kuroo, both of them hoarding inside jokes about the music they would play. He’d smile and feel that sensation in his stomach again. 

_ Fuck.  _

Keiji missed it. He wished he hadn’t been an idiot, he wished he didn’t get sick, and he wished he hadn’t kissed Kuroo. 

_ Well-  _ that wasn’t particularly true. The facts were laid out in front of him. He had liked kissing Kuroo, Kuroo was a boy, and Keiji didn’t mind at all. Setting up the equation was easy, doing the math was easier. Accepting the answer, however, was more difficult than anything he’d ever done. No matter how much he tried to erase the problem from his paper, he was still going to be a little less than straight. He didn’t know where that left him, but it was the tragic truth. 

With a groan, he sat up a little, not expecting the dizzy feeling. Was his vision blurry before? Keiji rubbed his eyes, but it didn’t get better. He reached forward to tap Bangs. 

_ No, not Bangs. Shirabu. Shirabu Bangs.  _

“What’s going on?” He gets out. “What was in that?” 

Shirabu stares at him blankly. After a minute, he closes his eyes tightly, as if to clear his mind. “Wait, what?” 

Keiji shakes his head. “I don’t know.” His hands rub at his eyes again, but once again his effort prevails. “I don’t know.”   
“This is weirder than I thought,” somebody says in the background. 

He can’t pay attention to the conversation that starts. Everything feels  _ weird.  _ His body feels like it’s made out of rubber bands as he gets up from the couch. Something about this dorm is wrong. It’s  _ wrong.  _ It’s too big, big enough for its own kitchen and rooms. His and Kenma’s dorm could never be that big, 

Maybe they could expand it if they tried hard enough. 

Keiji took shaky steps towards the kitchen, discovering a Kyoutani bent over the sink. His head was in his arms as the water ran, going directly in the drain. 

“Are you okay?”   
“Go away.” 

Kyoutani didn’t know that. Instead of going back to the couch, he managed to get up on the counter, sitting next to the pile of empty cups. 

“Can I tell you something?” He asks, staring at his back. 

“No.”   
He hums, swinging his legs slowly. The weird feeling is turning into a good feeling. Into a _fantastic_ feeling. 

“There’s this song about lemon trees,” Keiji starts, eyes closing as he tilts his head back. Smoking wasn’t like this. Drinking wasn’t either. This felt different. 

This felt best. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> second years second years second years all my faves are second years introducing the second years club  
> anyway first of all dont try lean i need to advocate that real quick. second of all it's my bad for not writing sooner. life is smthn else rn isnt it !! anyway does anybody have twitter? i need new mutuals. i dont have like a hq twitter mine is just personal but like whatever doesn't really matter  
> btw let the boy be panicked. idk my internal homophobia was really bad when i first realised The Gay so am i projecting? maybe, just let it happen  
> anyway tysm for reading, i literally have the worst writing habits where i write a ton of side-projects and distract myself from actually writing what i NEED to publish. that's 100% just my fault for being a right moron
> 
> be sure to wash your hands, stay home, and be healthy. stay safe, homies. i'll cya next time^^


	3. track three - star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruh this has like the LONGEST single scene i have no idea how it got that long (also my head hurts and im impatient so this is very lazily edited please dont burn me at the stake)

Keiji’s leg tapped ferociously under the table. The meeting with their agent had started maybe half an hour ago; he should have been paying attention, but it was hard to. 

“So we’re planning fifteen shows around Japan,” he explains to them, “but, if negotiations go correctly, we can secure a sixteenth show.” 

His leg pauses.  _ Sixteen?  _ That’s not what they had discussed at the last meeting. Fifteen shows was about all they were willing to wage on their budget as of now, even though their first album had fair profit backing within the first week of its release. Bokuto frowned, leaning forward in his chair, placing his elbows on the table. 

“Where?” He raises an eyebrow. “Have we not already gotten the pop-up show in Tokyo?” 

Their agent shifts in his seat, rolling a pen between his fingers. “Of course the pop-up is secured. This one is a little less… regional.” 

Kuroo and Keiji glance at each other for a moment, confused. Breaking their eye contact, he looks back at the agent. “Are you talking about an international show?” It’s the first time Kuroo’s spoken during the meeting. 

He nods with a smile. “Exactly. Your last album was a major hit in South Korea. We’re thinking the new album will do similarly, even better than the last.” 

It’s only then that Keiji realises he’s holding his breath. 

“So you want to do a single show in South Korea?” Bokuto asks in an overtly calm voice. Even so, Keiji can see his foot start tapping on the floor, a movement he does when he’s anxious. “Doesn’t that seem like a lot to wage on one show?”   
“Of course, but consider this, alright?” He holds his pen almost like a cigarette. “We’re talking a final show in Seoul, along with a live recording, available to be sold in the future on video.” 

The three of them are all frozen in their seats. 

“As long as things go alright, this is your gateway to the next tour being international.” 

When they were finally outside of the building, Bokuto lost his cool composure. Throwing his arms out in front of him, he let out a loud whoop into the late night. Keiji couldn’t help but smile as he threw an arm around both of their shoulders. 

“Guys, this is our big break!” He laughed out, grin going from ear to ear. “God, imagine us playing in  _ fucking  _ Seoul!” 

Keiji managed to slip out of his grasp before he and Kuroo both laughed and hugged. He watched them, slipping his hands in his pockets and laughed along as Kuroo caught him in a headlock, giving him a noogie. Bokuto wrestled back enough to get out of the hold, smile still large on his face. 

“C’mon, let’s go for drinks.” He put his hands on his hips. “I’ll pay this time, I promise.”   
Albeit with a playful roll of the eyes, Keiji pulled on his sleeve and started them walking. “Good enough for me. Let’s go before you bring any more attention to yourself.”   
Bokuto held both hands up to his mouth, tilting his head back and yelling before either Keiji or Kuroo could prevent him from doing so. 

“ _ We are unstoppable! _ ” 

Six months later, when the album dropped and every single concert had been sold out _,_ another celebratory drink was in order. The three cheers-ed their beers inside the thankfully air conditioned bar. It wasn’t one Keiji himself particularly enjoyed, but both Kuroo and Bokuto did enough to the point where he’d agree to go. They fit in a little more with the masculine sports-bar energy, even with Bo’s blue hair. He couldn’t help but feel out of place, a fight-or-flight feeling in his stomach telling him to run to the bathrooms and scrub off the eyeliner until his eyes were red, or to pull out his piercings and cover up his clothing with hoodies and sweats. Just any sort of attempt to keep people from staring at him. Sure, he felt comfortable with himself on his own. The familiar fear from university only came with the lingering gaze of anybody that decided to look over. 

Cold ale ran down his throat as he swallowed, closing his eyes for a single moment to relax. To remember to calm down. 

_ Nobody is looking.  _

_ Nobody will care.  _

_ If they care, you don’t.  _

Keiji opened his eyes, looking down at his hands clutching the glass. They were riddled in small tattoos, a fair mix of bold, professionally done designs and faded stick-and-poke doodles from long ago. He liked to pretend they all had some deep meaning, some big poetical or political stance on society. Most, however, were just pointless doodles that popped up in his head in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep. 

“Do you still have his number?” 

“Yeah, I should. I haven’t heard from him since that one year, though.”   
“I mean, we’re here. Here and with new opportunities.”   
“Are you sure he’s still here, though?” 

With a frown, he tilted his head from up at the ceiling back down. Kuroo and Bokuto were both leaning over Bokuto’s phone. 

“Who?” He asked, taking another sip from his glass. 

Bokuto looked up at him. “Tsukishima. Kuroo said we should text him to meet up.” 

His eyes flicked between the two. Kuroo wouldn’t look back at him. “It’s been a long time. Do you really think he’ll text back? Or even remember us?”   
That grabbed Kuroo’s attention, his head snapping up. “Of course, he would. Just because it’s been a few years doesn’t mean he’d forget about us.” 

Bokuto ignored their staring contest, typing down at his phone keyboard with eyebrows knitted. “How about a simple, ‘hey’?” 

“No.” Keiji reached across the table and took his phone. “If you really want him to say something, you have to pique his interest. This is Kei, we’re talking about.” 

He thought for a moment before finally typing out a simple two sentences. The other two waited expectantly for him to show them. Bokuto squinted at it. 

“Let’s reunite for the Tokyo concert. Wanna give it another go?” He read out loud carefully before looking up at Keiji with questioning eyes. “Are you sure?” 

A smile teased the corners of his lips. “Trust me, it’ll grab his attention.” 

* * *

“Kenma, that really hurts,” Keiji hissed, his one-armed grip on the pillow tightening. His left hand was outstretched on Tora’s sanitised desk, covered in seran wrap as Kenma carefully stuck in the tattoo needle over and over again. 

The sensation paused as he looked up. “Hurts how?”    
“It stings really bad,” he practically whined, dropping his forehead on the pillow. 

Kenma rolled his eyes and went back to work. “That’s just how getting a stick-and-poke feels, dude.” 

Everyone who went before him had made this look incredibly easy. Watari had clapped him on the shoulder, reassuring him that this would be fast and painless. Keiji, however, would like to argue that  _ no.  _ This was neither fast  _ nor  _ painless. He could hardly even stand the idea of watching his skin get punctured over and over again. Of course he  _ trusted  _ Kenma, but this was still a little too much for him. If his parents ended up noticing the tattoo, he’d be in hot water. 

A few minutes later, the repetitive pain came to a stop. “I’m done.” Kenma let go of his hand. “You can look before I put the bandage on.” 

Hesitantly, he pulled his hand back and looked down at the little design. It wasn’t super extravagant or dramatic. Unsure if he wanted a matching tattoo with anybody else, he had just told his friend to do something simple and subtle. With curious eyes, he holds up the hand closer to his face. On the soft side of his palm, below his pinkie area, lies a fairly pretty star with four points. The top and bottom are stretched long with shorter arms on the side. It is both simple and subtle. 

“It’s pretty,” Keiji says finally before giving his hand back to him. 

Kenma nods and swipes it with an alcohol wipe before putting down a large bandaid. “You seem like a guy that would like stars.” 

He nods, getting up from the chair after being all fixed up, the two walk back into the main area of the large dorm where everybody else sat. Kenma, only revealed to Keiji through this event, had been doing stick-and-pokes as some sort of odd hobby in high school and oftentimes would do them for his friends. Everyone in the room had gotten one before him and made the idea sound rather appealing. At first, Keiji had thought they were lying but after looking at that stupidly simple little star, everything seemed worth it. 

Hanging out with this group was very different from hanging out with Bokuto and Kuroo. For starters, no one was really that interested in music. Of course, a speaker would play whatever was popular lately in the background, but nobody wanted to  _ talk  _ about music. Nobody found conversations about pedal effects or percussion samples from everyday items to be fun like he did. Everyone, sure, had tons of cool hobbies and funny stories and deep conversations and whatever, but it didn’t feel the same. 

The only similarity was in the pipe that he held up to his lips. Yahaba’s lighter was different from any others he had used in the past. A small string of twine wrapped around the bottom ran all the way up to the flame, catching fire after anyone lit it. 

“It’s so you aren’t inhaling chemicals, or whatever.” He explained as Keiji leaned his head back, exhaling a thick stream of smoke. “Healthier fire.” 

Humming a response, Keiji waited a minute for the discomfort to pass before lighting the pile of weed again for his fourth hit in total. “Are you sure you don’t want any?” He could feel the smoke curling out of the corners of his mouth as he spoke. 

Yahaba huffed a laugh. “Nah, that shit makes me feel sick.” 

That didn’t seem right. “I don’t understand,” he tiled this head. “You smoke with us all the time.” 

His smile dropped. “Oh my god, nobody told you.” Yahaba got up and walked to Kyoutani, who was currently laying on the top of the backrest of the couch. “Why didn’t you fucking tell him!” He punched his shoulder and Kyoutani fell onto the seats with a yelp. 

“Why are you blaming me?” He scowled. “I was with Kenma when you guys decided to smoke my shit without me. That’s not even my fault!” 

Keiji watched them argue from the floor, passing the pipe back to Shirabu slowly. His stomach churned with nerves as they blamed each other back and forth for whatever had happened. 

_ Nobody told me. _

_ Nobody told me WHAT?  _

He stood up with shaky knees, pulling on Yahaba’s sleeve. “What didn’t you tell me? What’s wrong with the weed?” 

Yahaba pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing aggravatedly. “God, I thought you knew.” He let go, looking at him sympathetically. “You ever try PCP?”    
  


Akaashi Keiji had forgotten how to walk. As he sat on the bathroom floor of the dorm staring up at that bright,  _ bright,  _ light on the ceiling, he had to remind himself over and over again of two simple things. 

“My name is Akaashi Keiji,” He says quietly, “and I know how to walk.” 

Once again, he reached for the edge of the bathtub, confused by his rapidly changing depth perception. Everything was off. Trying to move was a nightmare. If he was correct with his estimate, he had been on this bathroom floor for two months, one week, and four days. After a few attempts, he finally grabbed onto the plastic rim of the tub with both hands. 

“My name is Akaashi Keiji.” He pushes up with his elbows, trying his hardest to get up. “And I,” he grunts as he gets up to his feet, “know how to walk.” 

He’s shaky, shakier than he’s ever been. Keiji grips onto the bathtub, bent over as he blinks hard a few times. When he lets go, everything is horrifyingly scary before he remembers. 

Akaashi Keiji knows how to walk. 

Carefully, he makes his way to the door and steps out into the living area. Most everyone is hanging around the couch, watching some tv show. Watari looks up at him, instantly smiling. 

“Hey, look who lived!” He waves him over. “You were in there for like, twenty minutes, dude.”   
Unsure of what else to do, he walks across the carpet and takes a seat. Keiji doesn’t feel secure on the carpet. Everything feels like he’s floating above water, gently moving up and down with every subtle wave that passes by. Sinking his hands into the shag material, he wonders if he’ll sink too. 

“Are you okay?” Tora asks with a frown. “Bad trip?” 

He opens his mouth to speak, but isn’t even sure of what to say. “I have no idea.”   
A hand reassuringly rubs his shoulder before letting go. “There’s milk in the fridge when you need it.”   
Keiji doesn’t know what that means. He scowls towards the carpet, continuing to spread his fingers into the carpet. His eyes trail up to the television, watching the lights and the colours, rather than what was really on it. Everything was inviting, like it was reaching out to him. To _him._ A soft smile came up to his mouth as he leaned forward and let it happen. It was the most he had been touched in so long. The reds all felt so comforting as it brought him into a hug, rubbing circles into the small of his back gently. 

“Akaashi.”

He blinked, a little confused when the television was no longer on. It was mostly dark in the dorm, his eyes adjusting shortly. Kyoutani, Fukunaga, and Yahaba were all sleeping on the couch in what really looked like uncomfortable positions. Wherever Watari and Tora were was a mystery to him. 

His attention came back to the original voice. Kenma sat against the bottom of the couch, one hand on Shirabu’s head resting on his shoulder. It was only then that he recognised the sounds of crying and noticed that Shirabu was shaking with quiet sobs against Kenma’s side. 

“Uh,” was all he could think of to say back, furrowing his brows. 

“Can you go get milk for him, if you’re okay to stand?” 

_ Milk. AGAIN.  _

Keiji nods, standing up with some difficulty. Every step towards the kitchen is easier to the next, even with how he can’t particularly tell where the ground really is. Were his steps too long? Or too short? How far did he have to put his foot down before it actually hit the floor?  
By the time he reaches the hallway, Keiji pauses. For a split second, he thought the coat hanger was Bokuto’s guitar. As he walks towards it, a weird feeling stirs around his stomach. Jealousy, almost. 

“My name is Akaashi Keiji. I know how to walk,” he swallows, “and I miss my friends.” 

It’s enough for him. With no other thoughts, Keiji leaves through the front door and heads out into the night. 

There’s little reason for it to be a long walk. It normally didn’t take him and Kenma terribly long to walk to the larger dorms. However, Keiji was preoccupied with the discovery of how magical life really was. He would see the energy moving between each and every lamppost, the way the electricity danced in each little lightbulb. Cicadas sang in the background, like  _ music.  _

Each and every little cicada was a member of their own band. Each and every one of them was singing their little hearts out in this single moment to act as the soundtrack to Keiji’s life and nothing else mattered. He had a skip in his step and a genuine smile going from ear to ear because this was simply his life and he felt like he was  _ floating.  _

“Akaashi?” 

He’s sitting on a bench and the previously dark sky is highlighted with the dampened colours of light before a sunrise. Kuroo stands in front of him with his backpack on, staring at him in a confused manner. 

Keiji hums a response, closing his eyes and refusing to let the smile leave his face. It’s hardly a struggle, he’s in a good mood. This is the first time he’s seen him in weeks. It’s a little relaxing to get that part over with. 

After a moment of hesitation and looking around to see if other people would notice, Kuroo walks closer to him. “What are you doing? It’s, like, six in the morning?” 

“Just hangin’ out,” Keiji says, finally opening his eyes to look up at him. “What are you doing?” 

He frowns, completely unamused. Kuroo leans down a little before standing back upright. “Jesus, dude, are you high?” 

“That’s, um,” he reaches a hand up to rake through his hair awkwardly, “yeah. Yes.” 

Once again, he looks around at the other people that pass by tiredly. “God.  _ God,  _ okay.” He holds out his hand. “C’mon, stand up.” 

“Whatever you say, Mr. Man.”   
Kuroo rolls his eyes. “God, I’m supposed to go to class. Fuck, dude. Come on.” 

He holds onto his shoulder and leads him down the pavement in the direction that he came from. It’s then that Keiji notices that he’s on the area of campus with school buildings and nowhere near the dorms. It’s a bit peculiar, but most likely not his fault. 

_ Maybe I took a taxi.  _

No, that didn’t make any sense. There weren’t any taxis on campus. Actually, that probably wasn’t true. Keiji knew nothing about taxis. 

“Do you have your dorm key?” Kuroo asks, looking down at his watch. 

He pats at his pockets, a little surprised to see he has absolutely nothing. No phone, no wallet, not keys, no nothing. Not even a pack of gum. That’s the most disturbing thing to him, he desperately wants the taste of weed out of his mouth. 

“No. I don’t know where my stuff is.”   
“Christ.”   
They continue to walk in silence until reaching the dorm building. When Kuroo stops at a floor that is _definitely_ not Keiji’s, he pauses with a scowl. 

“My dorm isn’t here.”   
“You don’t have your keys.” Kuroo sighs, holding the door open for him. “I’m gonna drop you off at mine.” 

The scowl doesn’t leave as they continue down the quiet hallway, mostly devoid of people. Kuroo unlocks a door about halfway through the hallway. It only occurs to Keiji now that he’s never actually been to Kuroo’s dorm, only Bokuto’s. The room inside is dark, and the boy in front of him turns to put a finger to his lips. Keiji nods and the two quietly walk inside. Kuroo directs him to the empty bed, pointing to the sleeping boy across from them and once again making a “be quiet or I’ll smack you” signal. 

He sits down carefully, the springy bed making a noise that causes both of them to flinch. The sleeping boy shifts in his bed, but continues to sleep. Kuroo quietly sighs in relief. 

“Hanamaki is a mildly light sleeper,” he whispers _very_ softly, almost too quiet to hear. Part of him notices this and he leans in. “Look, I have to go to class. Just stay here and don’t get into trouble. Okay?”   
Keiji nods, looking less at him and more at this. Kuroo notices this as well, pulling away quickly. “Take a nap, or something. I should be back in two hours.” 

It’s hard to think of a response in time, so he instead just stays quiet and watches Kuroo walk out of the door, shutting it as quietly as he can. With that, Keiji is left alone in the dorm. A short snore from across the room changes his mind. He’s  _ almost  _ alone. 

The bed is unmade and a bit messy as he runs his hands across the sheets. He smiles at them, able to make out the shapes of cats and kittens in various positions across the white bedding. It’s a bit childish, but he likes it. The rest of the dorm is equally as chaotic as the unmade bed. Movie and band posters litter the walls on both sides. Kuroo’s dresser has stacked CD’s, movie cases, and two drum pads atop a pile of unfolded clothing and textbooks. Kenma and Keiji would both rather die than have their room strewn with clothes and other various items on the floors, but it feels fitting here. 

With a quiet sigh, he shifts until he can fully lay down on the bed. It’s the same feeling as his own mattress, but there’s a spark of excitement in his stomach from being in Kuroo’s bed. It’s his bed.  _ His  _ bed. Keiji had sat on Bokuto’s bed probably hundreds of times, but this was the very first time he had been on Kuroo’s. 

He rolled over onto his side, met face-to-face with a few various photos that had been taped to the wall. Right at eye-level was probably a family photo. Two grandparents and an older man, probably his dad, stood next to Kuroo, who was definitely younger and holding up a peace sign. Even so, his hair was exactly the same. Next to that one was a few polaroids of him with Bokuto, him with Bokuto and Yukie, and one that Keiji was a little surprised to see. Another polaroid, but from a couple months ago. It was him sitting against a bed, Keiji laying back on his lap, juul in hand. If he remembered correctly, that was the night of the party. 

The last photo was of Kenma and Kuroo, holding his high school diploma and grinning like the world was in his hands. Kenma smiled too, albeit not as big, but it was a smile that Keiji had never seen on him. 

_ Huh.  _

A chill went down his spine and Keiji groaned quietly, putting his hands up to his eyes. The peace he felt before began to turn into something less than. His heartbeat felt like it was in his throat, beating faster and faster. Faster and faster and faster and faster and- 

_ No.  _

_ Inhale, exhale. Repeat.  _

Keiji closed his eyes, slow breaths filling his lungs until he physically forced his heart rate to lower. This wasn’t great, but it was better than before. He was okay, he wasn’t going to die. There had to be a reasonable explanation. Searching through his brain’s files, Keiji quickly solved the problem. 

_ I have taken drugs. I have been high for approximately ten hours. I am coming off of the high. _

That was mildly reassuring. Discomfort continued to creep down his spine, spreading through the rest of his body. His stomach churned, not with nerves, but with genuine nausea. When moving to lay on his other side, the feeling worsened. For a moment, he’s afraid he’s about to vomit on Kuroo’s bed. 

He takes a slow breath in, trying not to gag.

_ My name is Akaashi Keiji and I am not going to puke.  _

“Who are you?” 

Keiji stirs awake to the sound of somebody else’s unfamiliar voice. After sitting up, he notices that the worst of the nausea has dissipated. The boy who was asleep earlier is standing up shirtless, rummaging through a drawer with various articles of clothing jammed inside. 

“Uh,” he starts, rubbing at his eye. “Kuroo’s friend.” That might not even be true, but it’s easier than fully explaining. 

The boy- _what was his name?_ Well, he gives him a weird look before snapping a finger, some sort of revelation coming to mind. “Ah! You guys must’ve been _quiet_. Sheesh.” He pulls on a shirt inside out, throwing a draw-string bag over his shoulder. “I think his class should be over soon. Don’t, like,” he flits his hand towards his side of the room, “mess around on my shit, _please_.”   
He leaves before Keiji can interrupt, mouth open in surprise. His shirt was _inside-out_! Yawning, he ran a hand through his hair, brain not connecting one thing to another. Sitting still for a moment, he stared off into space as his train of thought finally left the station. Keiji’s eyes widened and he put his head into his hands, face turning red. 

“Oh my  _ god _ .” 

The door opened again but Keiji found himself too embarrassed to look. 

“Are you okay?” He recognised it to be Kuroo speaking. The door shut, but the lights stayed off. 

“Yeah, uh. I’m good. I’m fine.” His hands dropped to his lap, face still burning red. 

Soft footsteps got closer until Kuroo stood on the opposite end of the bed. He refused to look up. 

“What are you doing, man?” Kuroo asked. “What did you even take?” 

Keiji remembered what Yahaba had said. “We smoked PCP, or something.” He rubs at his brow, trying to do anything but look up. “I don’t remember how I got to the bench.”   
“What _do_ you remember, then?” He sat down on the other end, legs pulled into a criss-cross position. “You can’t be irresponsible like that.” 

“I don’t know. Man, I- I just don’t know.” Keiji looks up, directly into Kuroo’s eyes. “It just happened.”   
They’re quiet for a moment. Kuroo glances down. “Is your hand hurt?” He asks softly, his tone being less harsh than it had been just prior. 

_ Oh, right.  _ He pulls back the bandaid to show him the tattoo, skin red around the star. After a few seconds, he smoothes the bandage back down, although he’ll most likely need to replace it later. 

“Kenma, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”   
Kuroo thinks for a moment before rolling down the hem of his sweats, showing off a small, nearly fuzzy looking music note on his hip-bone. “Did that for me before I went to uni. Hurt like a bitch.”   
“It really does.” A small smile appears on his face. 

He rolls his hem back up, eyes staying on the bed sheet. “Bokuto wants you to come back. The whole band thing kinda, like, died down after you left.”   
Keiji knew he was guilty. After… what happened, it felt too uncomfortable to even think about hanging out with them again. “I didn’t think you’d want me there.”   
“No,” he scowls, “I would just want you to explain what the hell happened. You’re the one that-”   
“Stop.” It’s selfish, but he doesn’t want him to say it. “I just, _god._ I was just confused.”   
Kuroo gets off the bed, running a hand through his hair. “Great. No, congratulations. You’re exactly like everybody else at this school. I’m happy for you, truly.”   
There’s a sharpness to his tongue that circulates anxiety throughout Keiji’s chest. He doesn’t want Kuroo to be mad at him. He doesn’t. “I didn’t mean it like that.” His voice breaks a little near the end.

“It’s not the worst thing in the world to be straight.” He kicks at a sock on the floor. “But if you’re deciding to take out your sexual needs on me then that’s messed up.” 

_ No.  _ He doesn’t want him to think that. The pressure around his lungs increases. “I didn’t  _ mean  _ it like that.” Keiji repeats desperately. 

Kuroo turns towards him. “Then what else could you have  _ possibly  _ meant.” 

Words fail him. “I... “ He looks down at the sheets. “I got scared. Of myself, I guess.” 

“I’m just a dude, Akaashi.” He opens his arms with a shrug. “In the grand scheme of things, it really isn’t a big deal.”   
He has no response. 

“Just come with us to breakfast.” 

Kuroo’s right. It really isn’t a big deal. And still, the tightness in his lungs disagrees. 

Bokuto’s hugs are smothering, he discovers. “Oh, Akaashi! I was so upset. I thought we’d never see you again!” He cries out, completely crushing him in his arms. 

“We go to the same school,” Keiji wheezes out before being let go of. “You’d see me eventually.”   
“But you didn’t text! Or call! You never even post anything on your stories!” 

“Alright,” Kuroo holds the door of the school cafe open, “we’ve had our grand reunion. Now can we get a table before there aren’t any left?”   
Keiji walks in with Bokuto, his ear being talked off with mindless chatter about how he’d been for the past month and a half or so. As he passes by, he can’t help but feel the ice cold vibe radiating off of Kuroo. He’s mad. Or aggravated. He’s had a hard time deciding whether to talk to him or not. The booth they get is in the corner of the small cafe. Kuroo leaves to order for them, leaving Bokuto and Keiji once again. 

“Of course, I missed you as a person,” Bokuto explains, talking with his hands, “but I was so worried for the band too! I really thought we could go places with the three of us. See, every year at the end of summer, the school holds a talent show of sorts, and Kuroo and I didn’t have a full band back then. So I was thinking-”   
“Hot chocolate for Akaashi, coffee for me, and two RedBulls for Bokuto,” Kuroo interrupts. He slides the drinks to everyone before taking a seat across from Keiji. 

“Oh, thanks, dude.” Bokuto smiles at him before cracking open his first energy drink and downing at  _ least  _ half. “Anyway, I was thinking that we could actually sign up this year.” 

Keiji watches in distress as he finishes the first can and opens the second. “Bokuto, are you okay?” He asks with a raise of the eyebrows. 

“Totally,” Bokuto smiles with a thumbs up. “Just another all-nighter.”   
“He hasn’t slept in two days,” Kuroo muses, blowing on his mug before taking a sip. 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” he continues, ignoring the concerned expression from Keiji, “I already had a great idea. We’d be noticed instantly. People would never forget us.” 

_Oh god._ That was his worst nightmare. “What does that entail?”   
“You like Queen at all?” Kuroo looks up at him. 

“The English band?”   
“Mhm.” 

Keiji swirls the spoon around his hot chocolate. “I suppose so.”   
Bokuto slams down his emptied second can with a grin. “Great! So you know how for a music video they did drag?”   
Horror spreads across his face. Keiji shakes his head, standing up from the booth. “No. _No._ Absolutely not, I will _not_ do that.” 

Getting up after him, Bokuto falls down to his knees and takes his hands. The commotion causes several tired-looking people to look over in their direction. “ _Akaashi!_ It wouldn’t be super eccentric! Please! I swear on my _life_ that people would love it.”   
He keeps shaking his head. “No, no, I would rather die.”   
Kuroo’s lips twitch before quoting Yukie. “Way to be progressive.”   
Everyone’s eyes seem to be held on him. Everyone. _Everyone._ Even the people who are minding their own business. Everybody is looking. Everybody wants to know what he’ll say. 

“Akaashi.” Bokuto’s pulled on glassy, puppy eyes that beg for him to give in. “It would be  _ fun. _ ” 

_ Fuck.  _

* * *

“So Bo told me you and Kuroo had a fight,” Yukie says to him as they flip through tops at a second-hand clothing store. 

His eyes flick up to Kuroo and Bokuto in another aisle, holding up different pairs of pants to each other and laughing. “Something like that.” 

She hums a response before holding up a large striped shirt. “This could be cute if you cropped it.” 

“I don’t know,” He sighs. “I don’t think I’d be comfortable wearing a crop top.” 

“Everyone looks good in them.” Yukie puts it back on the rack. “And if you’re supposed to be in drag, people would go wild for that.”   
Keiji frowns, annoyed at the thought of it. Even though he agreed to Bokuto’s idea, it didn’t mean he was okay with it. Doing _drag_ in front of the student body just… made him feel sick. They had never played in front of anybody before. Not seriously. Keiji used to do lots of musical recitals, but they were never in _drag._

“I just don’t get why we couldn’t dress normally.” He pauses at a black tube top. 

“It would be homage to the song’s music video. Plus, you’d stand out.” She notices that he’s stopped and takes it off the rack. “That’s cute too. I could probably stuff one of my strapless bras for you if you wore that.” 

He can’t come up with a complaint before she takes it off the rack. They continue moving into a shoe section. She talks about how a tube top would look cute with a skirt, or maybe some tiny shorts. Keiji walks around, stopping with eyebrows raised at a pair of _very_ tall heeled boots.   
“Oh, damn. Those are really cool.” She picks up one, looking at the thin heel. “I can’t believe someone gave these up.”   
Keiji nods, picking up the other one. The price is cheap, and he doesn’t understand why he’s almost enamoured with them. They’re definitely too small for his feet, and… and they’re _not_ normal. Not normal for him. He puts down the shoe, weirded out by his liking for it. 

“Akaashi,” Yukie puts it down as well, the two moving on. “You’re single, right?”   
_Ouch._ “Yeah.” 

“I have a good friend, Kaori, who’s really sweet. She’s in my year and very cute _and_ single, if you wanted me to set you up.” Her hand runs along a shelf. “I think you’re her type.”   
The idea of getting a girlfriend suddenly feels alien to him. All during high school, every boy he knew stressed so hard about getting them. Everyone seemed so pressed, so anxious, so ready to date. Keiji had never dated anybody in his entire life; the thought of going on a date should be appealing. 

“Oh. Um,” he clears his throat, “that’s really nice, but uh, no thank you.”   
She squints at him for a moment, in thought. “I mean, I have some guy friends-”   
Keiji spins on his heels with wide eyes. “No. Oh my god, no. I- uh, I don’t think- I-” He continues to stutter, probably not helping his case. His voice falters off, no point to really be made. 

The two, stopped in the middle of the knick-knack aisle, have the most awkward staring contest Keiji has ever had in his entire life. He can tell his face is red by the way his cheeks burn at a zillion degrees. She frowns for a moment, trying to figure him out. 

“It’s okay, y’know.” Her hand pats his shoulder. “It really doesn’t matter either way. C’mon, let’s go see what the others have picked up.”   
He followed after her, nerves making his knees feel weaker than usual. For some reason, no matter how often somebody said that to him, he couldn’t help but feel like it mattered more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact of the day: ig milk counterparts pcp  
> second fun fact: don't try that out lol  
> anyway so hi hello im actually uploading at a kind of okay time today. good for me. i will reward myself with forty consecutive hours of sleep  
> i dont have much to say today but if you have twitter drop your @ i'll follow you (even tho my acc isnt hq related sorry) 
> 
> tysm for reading !! with this im reminding you that this is a less plot-driven fic because it's a side story to my main (finished) story. a storyline from side a and side b will be in future chapters so bc i dont want it to make sense and i dont want to spoil you, i'd advise at least reading side a at some point in time. but still! tsym for reading even if you arent from side b that means the world to me
> 
> make sure to wash your hands, stay home, and be healthy. stay safe, homies <3 i'll cya next time^^


	4. track four - different kind of sad

“Kuroo!” Bokuto shouted as he stopped playing. “You’re off again!”   
From behind the kit, Kuroo’s drumming faltered off. “Are you joking?” He held up a drumstick to point at him. “It’s _your_ fault. I’m not off, your singing is.”   
Their lead guitarist pulled his eyebrows, obviously insulted. “That’s not true at all, I’ve been on-beat the _entire_ time!” He turns to Keiji. “Tell him, Akaashi.”   
Both of them stare at him, catching him a little off guard. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, “Bokuto, um, when you sing in English, your uh- your timing is way off.” Keiji cringed at how he worded it. “Okay, not _way_ off-”   
“No.” Kuroo interrupts. “Definitely way off.” 

It only takes that much to reduce Bokuto to a pouting mess in the corner of the room. Kuroo sighs, getting off of his seat. Keiji put his bass back on the stand, stretching his arms and tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. They’d been practicing in the school’s music building for about a week now, so Kuroo could actually practice with a real drum kit. With the instrumentals, their cover of “ _ I Want to Break Free _ ” sounded fairly standard. Just a normal cover of the song by some normal guys. Paired with Bokuto’s English vocals, however… 

“Look,” their drummer walks closer to Bokuto, standing behind him with a hand on his hip. “All I’m saying is that if you suck at English, then we do any other song. This is a bust otherwise.” 

“I just don’t see why Akaashi won’t do it,” Bokuto moans, resting his head atop his knees. “If he’s so good at English,  _ he  _ should sing.” 

Kuroo turns to look at Keiji, making him instantly shake his head and put his hands up. “He’s not gonna. Either we back out, or we choose a different song. It’s that simple.” 

“It would’ve been  _ so  _ cool though!” He wails, shoulders slumping. 

Keiji feels a bit of guilt strike through him. Bokuto really had been dead set on this performance. It had been the only thing he’d talked about for the past two weeks. He wanted to do this-  _ well,  _ sort of. He wanted to do it for Bokuto, but Kuroo had a point. Keiji himself refused to do vocals, it would gather way too much unwanted attention. Bokuto struggled with pronunciation and timing especially. If they couldn’t figure it out, the best bet would be to just give up. Either completely, or just pick a new song. 

Bokuto’s whining complaints mixed with the past two hours of loud music had been enough for him. Keiji picked up his case from the floor, loading in his instrument and leaving without that much of a goodbye. 

He was so tired. 

* * *

“Kenma,” Keiji starts one evening after his roommate returns from a late class, “it’s been a while since we’ve, like, done anything.” 

He frowned as he kicked off his high-tops. “What are you talking about? We hang out practically every weekend.”   
_God._ This was painful to explain. “No,” he rolls over on the bed to face him. “I meant, like, uh, _taken_ anything.”   
Kenma pauses, staring at him weirdly. “I mean, yeah. We don’t do that stuff all the time. Plus the last time I checked, you completely disappeared when I needed help for Shirabu’s bad trip. So yeah, it’s time we all take a break from that kind of thing.”   
“Huh.” 

Their conversation ends faster than it even started. Kenma moves to his desk, pulling on headphones and turning on his laptop. Normally, that means the two won’t talk until the next day. Keiji thinks, shifting to lay on his back. His answer wasn’t ideal. Asking Kenma was a bust, but he still had a chance. It wasn’t like he had suddenly grown to take part in that extreme party culture, but he couldn’t stop thinking. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he felt that last night they smoked. The events of what happened here hazy in his mind, but the  _ feeling.  _

It was pure bliss. 

Keiji sat up, pulling on his shoes and walking out the door before Kenma would even notice he had left. 

* * *

Finding Kyoutani wasn’t as hard as he figured. He texted Watari, who texted Yahaba, who texted Keiji the location of whatever party he was currently at. Walking to the circle houses was a bit far, nerves chewing at his stomach. As he walked in the humid dark, he took a slow hit on his juul to attempt coming back down to a simple calm. 

“Hey,” he practiced under his breath, expelling a cloud from his mouth, “where do you get PCP?” The more he said it, the more wrong he felt. 

_ Isn’t that a type of water pipe?  _

With a frown, Keiji stopped walking and pulled out his phone. 

“Ah.” He said. “PVC.” 

Now, feeling a little more secure in his words and knowing the difference between PVC and PCP, he continued the long walk to the party.

It was a different house from the first one he had been to with Kenma and Tora, but it had essentially the same scene. Trashed solo cups outside, people hanging out on the lawn, on the front porch, door wide open for anybody to walk through. In this case, that meant Keiji himself.   
Music he recognised from hanging out with Kenma’s friends pounded through the inside with heavy bass and synth so loud that people were yelling to converse. As he made his way through the foyer, he scanned the room for the familiar racing stripes. Keiji murmured the words to the rap song, having heard it so many times, as he decided texting Kyoutani might just be the easiest option. 

_ No answer.  _ This was aggravating. Turning around, his eyes widened as a girl bumped right into his chest. 

“Shit!” Suddenly, the sensation of lukewarm liquid soaked into the front of his shirt, her cup of what smelled like beer spilling all over him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”   
He was a little stunned, forgetting what he was even supposed to do in this situation. “Uh, no it’s fine.” 

“There’s a bathroom upstairs. Let me help you clean up,” she offered sympathetically. 

Keiji shook his head. “No, ah. It’s, um, it’s okay.” He points towards the stairs. “I’ll do it myself.” 

Feeling too awkward to stay, he sped-walked away with the growing discomfort of a wet shirt. He hardly cared about stepping over people this time, hopping from one step to the next with a quick apology here and there. Was this even worth it? 

_ The chances of Kyoutani having drugs now were slim.  _

_ Ugh, saying drugs sounds so awful.  _

_ Oh god.  _ He paused, suddenly self aware of himself. “What am I even doing?” 

“Standing in the way,” someone pushed past him. “Get out of the fucking way, dude.” 

His cool composure was going down. Keiji felt a wave of self-consciousness similar to the one he had at the first party, completely unable to swallow his pride and say something snippy back. Checking his phone once more, the stress only built when he saw that Kyoutani had left him on  _ read _ ! 

_ Fuck this.  _

Keiji made up his mind. He was going to clean up his shirt, and he was going to go home. This was absolutely not worth the effort he had put in. A door in the middle of the hallway had a paper taped to it, reading the word “bathroom”. At least that one was simple. He grabbed the handle, a little surprised to feel cloth. Looking down at it, he frowned at the single sock hanging off of the handle. 

“Ah, dude,” another person kicked lightly at his ankle, making him turn around. “I wouldn’t want to go in there.”   
His frown turned into a scowl. “I need to use it.”   
“Just piss in the backyard, man.”   
The very notion made him wrinkle his nose. Now disgusted, Keiji opened the door and froze. His eyebrows shot up, lips parting slightly. There was one boy with his pants undone, sitting on the rim of the bathtub. Another knelt on the floor, mouth very close to-

“Oh.”

He had found the racing stripes. 

Only when Kyoutani looked over did Keiji remember how to use his legs. His eyes went wide, but that was all he saw before he decided to turn around and slam the door. That was something he shouldn’t have seen. That was absolutely. 

Suddenly realising, Keiji smacked his forehead.

_ The fucking sock!  _

The guy from before laughed at seeing his face, but he continued walking back down the stairs before he could hear whatever witty remark he was going to say. 

“Akaashi.”   
_Nope, nope, nope._

A hand grabbed at the back of his collar, yanking him away from the front door. 

“ _ Akaashi _ .” 

Kyoutani’s voice was more aggressive this time, matching the force at which he spun Keiji around. 

“I didn’t see anything,” he could hear the cracks when he spoke, nerves taking over. “I just wanted to ask you about PVC, I swear I didn’t mean to.”   
A series of conflicting emotions fly across Kyoutani’s face. _Shame, overwhelm, anger,_ wait. Keiji’s eyebrows pull, almost insulted when amusement sticks. 

“PVC? Like the plumbing pipe?”   
He sighs, shoulders dropping. “You _know_ what I meant. Look, I’ll just go. I never saw anything.”   
The second time he turns to leave, Kyoutani yanks him back. “I’m not going to waste your time. I don’t sell, but I know who does.” He pulls on his sleeve. “Come on.” 

“It’s really okay.” His voice is weak, disliking the calm demeanour Kyoutani has suddenly gathered despite the scenario they were both in. 

Keiji saw. Kyoutani saw him see. Keiji saw Kyoutani see him see… them. As the two walked outside, he couldn’t help but feel his face heat up. The memory of Kyoutani giving head wouldn’t get out of his mind, no matter how hard he tried. 

_ Giving head. _

He watched the back of his head, looking for any sign of embarrassment. Any sign to tell him whether this was something he was ashamed of. Was this a common occurrence? Was it a one time thing?

_ He’s like me.  _

His heart honest-to-god sinks at that thought, and he’s disappointed at it. Not at Kyoutani. Not at Kyoutani giving  _ head.  _ Keiji was simply so disappointed that he really had to accept it. Accept that he was like this. 

“God, I don’t understand how Daichi can practice in the heat.”  
“I swear, one of these days he’s gonna have a stroke or something. Global warming is not on his side.” 

Somebody laughed, and Keiji came to reality. Near the back door, two older guys were leaning against the house. Kyoutani waited patiently, not looking like he wanted to interrupt the conversation. One of them was shorter, tank top showing off well-toned arms that crossed over his chest. The other was taller, well-styled hair glinting from porch light. He held a cigarette up to his lips, sucking on the end before releasing a cloud of smoke. 

“Iwaizumi,” Kyoutani started, his tone growing formal. 

The shorter guy turned around, causing Keiji to take a step back. “Oh, um,” Iwaizumi nodded at him. “Hey.”   
His friend nodded, pushing Keiji forward. “He wants to buy.”   
Iwaizumi blinks, looking between the two. The other guy flicks ash to the cement, taking a step forward. “Yeah?” He scans him up and down. “What? And why? How can we trust he isn’t a snitch.”   
“Oikawa, calm down,” Kyoutani sighs. “He literally does shit with us. Tripped off his ass a few weeks ago and disappeared. He wants PCP.” 

The first guy shrugs, uncrossing his arms. “I can’t sell it anymore. Or at least, for a while. Got word that somebody might be snitching.”   
Kyoutani stares, mouth agape. “Then what am I supposed to buy from you?” 

Oikawa takes a quick smoke before turning back to blow it out into their faces. “Find Asahi. He sells acid and shit.” 

He struggles to hold back a cough, internally begging Oikawa to just take his juul instead so he didn’t have to smell the nicotine anymore. “Acid isn’t the same thing, though.” Keiji finally remarks, feeling a burst of bravery. 

Iwaizumi huffs a laugh. “Well, it’s the best you’ll get. And besides, I’m not selling shit, so it’s that or nothing, kid.”   
“I’m not a kid.”   
“Whatever,” Kyoutani grabs his sleeve, “we’ll just go. Asahi is easy to bargain with anyway.” As they walk away, he whispers at him. “Don’t bother arguing with them, it made you look stupid.” 

With his mouth open his surprise as he’s pulled along. “Look, I’ll just go. It isn’t a big deal.” 

“Nope.” Kyoutani’s shoulders tense up. “We’re finding Asahi. I’ll get you acid even if it kills us.” 

After exiting the house, Keiji yanked his arm away. “I told you it wasn’t a big deal. Why do you care so much?” 

He opens his mouth, then closes it. “I just don’t want you to tell anyone.” His voice has less of a bite than it normally would. It isn’t hard to guess what he’s talking around. 

“I wouldn’t,” he throws his hands up. “I wouldn’t, I swear.”   
“Wouldn’t or won’t?”   
“Won’t!” Keiji gives him an empathetic look. “It would be-” 

_ Oh. _

_Was he really going to say it?_ _  
_ His hands tighten into fists. 

_ Oh man, he was gonna say it.  _

“Hypocritical.” He swallows. “It would be hypocritical.” 

Kyoutani’s eyebrows raise. “Like-”   
“Yeah.”   
The two pause, right there in the dark street. Keiji folds his arm over his chest, trying to look all sorts of secure that he wasn’t. Kyoutani shoves his hands in his pockets, tilting his head towards the road. 

“Okay, well c’mon.” He doesn’t smile, but Keiji thinks he might be forcing it. “Asahi lives in a circle house down the street.”   
Nodding, he starts to walk with him once again, things less tense than they were before. It was hardly a coming out, but he still feels a small amount of pride that circulates around his body. 

It’s getting a little easier to accept himself. 

Asahi was a very tall, terrifying guy that Keiji would one-hundred percent peg to be a drug dealer. However, he was also probably one of the nicest people he’d ever met. He offered them tea, a meal, and even to turn the cooling unit on so they’d be comfortable before the buying process had even started. 

Kyoutani did most of the talking. Asking about amounts, price ranges, and quality. The conversation was long and sort of boring to him, but at the same time he forced himself to pay attention. As Asahi pulled out a box, somebody came down the stairs in pajamas and slippers. 

“What’s going on?” The guy asked groggily. “I have to be up early for practice tomorrow.” The new guy had short, dark hair and was extremely well-built. Keiji had never been one to ogle, but he subconsciously did anyway. 

“Oh, um, Daichi.” Asahi blinked between them and him. “They just wanted to, uh, buy.” His voice went soft and timid. 

“Jesus, dude. You’re gonna get arrested.” He scowled, turning to them. “And you guys are idiots for doing drugs.”   
Keiji’s eyes widened a little, not even sure how to react. Kyoutani on the other hand, rolled his eyes. “Okay, Mr. Cop. If you’re so concerned, call the police right now.”   
They glared at each other for an uncomfortably long time in silence.   
“That’s what I figured.” He looks back at Asahi. “Look, we’ll take the bag. You got PayPal?”

The transaction happens before Keiji realises he isn’t paying, but the plastic baggie of tablets is still placed in his hands. Kyoutani stands up from the table, shaking hands with Asahi before tapping Keiji’s shoulder to get up. He does the same, a little confused at everything that’s happening, but nonetheless follows Kyoutani back out into the night. 

“You owe me for those,” he hummed before taking the bag out of his hand. “But, because I paid, I get one. There, you have nine now.” 

The bag is tossed back, Keiji scrambling to catch it. Inside are a bunch of circular, blue tablets. “I thought LSD came on those square things.” 

Kyoutani puts the tablet in his pocket. “They do, but there are other forms too.”   
He nods in understanding and the two continue to walk down the poorly-lit street. There wasn’t a definite direction the two had settled on, but he assumes they’re going back to the dorms. Part of him feels guilty for making him leave the party so soon. 

“So, hypocrisy, huh?” Kyoutani clears his throat, looking straight ahead. 

It makes sense that the subject would be brought up again, but he’s still a little nervous saying it out loud. “Sort of, yeah.”   
He can see the way his eyebrows furrow. “What does that mean?”   
“I’m just figuring things out.” He kicks at a small rock as he walks. “I only found out this year.”   
Kyoutani whistles at that. “Damn. I noticed when I was eleven. Didn’t fully get it for a few years, but I still knew something was up.”   
“And you aren’t out?” Keiji misses the rock this time, a little embarrassed. 

“It’s easier for me to not bother,” he shrugs. “Bi guys don’t get the most understanding.”   
He pauses, looking at the back of Kyoutani’s head for a few seconds before continuing. “You’re bisexual?” 

“We exist.” The grumble is quiet, but his tone calms down after a second. “I either get told I’m just a closeted gay guy, or I’m a confused straight guy. Now, I just stay quiet.” 

“And nobody in the group knows?” It’s a little hard to catch up to him. Kyoutani is an annoyingly fast walker. 

“Nobody. Except you, I guess.” He stares down at his shoes, ears red. “I want it to stay that way.”   
“Yeah, I get it.” 

Their conversation falters off, the only sounds being footsteps on pavement. He kicks at another rock. 

“Oh, and Akaashi,” He turns towards him. “Just so you know, we are never, _ever_ going to date.”   
Keiji smiles and draws an ‘x’ over his heart. “You have my word.” 

They smile at each other before breaking out into quiet laughter. It felt kind of good to have somebody on his side for once. 

* * *

Summer break came a lot sooner than he expected. Exams were brutal, just as he expected, and the situation with the song had stayed exactly the same. As he packed his bag for the next few weeks, however, he tried not to think about it. Keiji was ready for some rest and relaxation, not to mention the temporary return to his normal-sized bed at home. 

“Your parents are picking you up, right?” Kenma slung a bag over his shoulder, getting ready to leave. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Later this afternoon.” 

“Well, uh,” awkwardly standing in the doorway, he gave a quick wave. “I’ll see you after break. Don’t get killed or anything. I don’t want to put in the work for a new roommate.”   
Keiji smiled. “No promises. Don’t miss your train, it’ll be embarrassing if you have to come back in an hour.” 

Kenma rolled his eyes, playfully mocking him before leaving the room. He waited a few seconds, just in case he returned, before pulling out the plastic baggie and carefully tucking it in his backpack. Truthfully, he had been too nervous to try it yet. It had sat hidden under his mattress for two weeks, only taken out so Keiji could consider it now and then. Maybe break would be his first time. But then again, maybe it would be the last time he’d be alive if his parents found out. 

“It’d be stupid to leave it here,” he sighed, reassuring himself as he zipped up the bag. A knock came to the door, surprising him. “Kenma?”   
The door burst open with much gusto, revealing both Bokuto and Kuroo. “Oh, great! You’re still here!” 

He nodded and stood up, struggling to move one of his bags onto the bed. “My parents are picking me up.”   
The two walked in, Bokuto talking about how they were going to leave in the evening as he took a seat on Keiji’s bed. Kuroo stepped in with more caution, eyes trailing along the walls and the leftover belongings of Kenma. It was hard to not wonder what he was thinking with the nostalgic expression he wore. 

“Anyway,” Bokuto handed him a slip of paper. “I wanted us to practice over break. This is my address, we have a really good music room and I _really_ want us to play when we can.”   
He took the scrap, staring down at his fairly-awful handwriting. “Isn’t this like, in a really nice neighbourhood?”   
Kuroo laughed. “His parents are, like, _rich,_ rich. Only reason he’s not at a better school is ‘cuz his head is full of rocks.” With a grin, he catches both sides of Bokuto’s head and shakes it. 

“Hey!” He swats him away, attempting to protect his hair. “School isn’t even important. My parents know I’m bigger than it.”   
“Okay, buddy.”   
“Don’t give me ‘tude. I’m housing you, after all.”   
Keiji frowned. “Kuroo, you’re not going home?” 

“Nah,” He leaned against the wall, shrugging. “My dad’s in China and Gramps and Granny aren’t totally crazy about me now.”   
He and Bokuto go back to play fighting; he’s heard it enough to know their little bickering never means anything. Something feels off, though. Maybe his relationship with his own parents wasn’t _perfect_ , but he couldn’t imagine not even going home to see them. 

“So promise that you’ll show up?” Bokuto leaned on the footrest, staring up at him with begging eyes. “I’ll even let you play around with pedals. We have so many and I can let you look around for hours and find a good sound. Akaashi, _please_?”   
It was hard to resist smiling at his attempt. “Yeah, just tell me whenever you need me.” He folded the paper before sliding it into his pocket. 

“Constantly! You could even stay in a guest room like Kuroo.”   
“Ha, my parents wouldn’t like that.” He huffed a laugh. “But thanks for offering.” 

Bokuto got off the bed, pulling him into another bone-crushing hug before letting go. “Okiedoke, we’ll see you then.” After letting go, he gave a wave and opened the door. “Bye, Akaashi!” 

Kuroo waited a minute after Bokuto had already left. “Have a good summer, man.” They nod at each other, and suddenly Keiji is left alone. 

The idea of staying with them is more enticing than he originally thought, jealousy and regret pulling at his stomach. He hadn’t lied, though. His parents would freak if he asked about spending the entire summer with two rock-and-roll guys. They’d probably suspect cocaine. Cocaine and hookers. And petty crime. 

He sighed and pinched his nose. It was fine. He could still see them, of course. He just needed to deal with his parents first. 

Which, of course, was a little less than fine. 

* * *

“You’ve been eating right?”   
“Yes, Mom.” 

“And you’ve been doing well in your studies?”   
“Yes, Dad.”   
Keiji stared down at his dinner, perplexed by his own discomfort. He’d had dinner with his parents essentially every day from the time he was born until he had left for university, but the few months he had spent eating dinners at the cafeteria with others, or shitty ramen in the dorm with Kenma, he had grown accustomed to having fun with people his age. 

This kind of dinner was quiet, and he felt as though his every move might be wrong. 

“And you’re not getting into any trouble, right?” His mother looked at him seriously. “Your roommate isn’t distracting? Or a bad influence?” 

It was funny to think of Kenma as distracting. “No, I just focus on school.” He gathered his dishes, despite having hardly touched his dinner. “Thank you for the food.”   
Part of him wondered whether they would notice his new, unfeeling behavior or not. The three of them had never been so… _warm_ prior, but tonight Keiji was less than even that. The idea of staying to continue that conversation made him feel sick. As he moved to the kitchen to do his dishes, he heard their talking go back to normal. Work this, city politics that. His head tilted downward as he scrubbed at the fork a little _too_ hard. 

They didn’t notice. 

Keiji’s room was still mostly the same. His posters of musicians he liked were taken down, currently residing on his dorm’s walls, but the furniture was mostly the same. He sat on the window sill, looking out onto the dark street of his neighbourhood. His parents should be in bed by now, probably talking quietly to each other about nothing in particular. Maybe they were talking about how good their son was, how successful he was going to be when he picked a good business major. How he was going to find a good, respectable woman to marry in his last year. 

He huffed a laugh to himself, getting off the sill and walking across the room to his backpack. After ruffling around it for a few seconds, he found the plastic bag. He swiped his thumb over the tablets, considering things. With a shake of the head, he folded the bag neatly and placed it in his front pocket. Something else was already there, however. Frowning, Keiji pulled out the piece of paper in his pocket. 

_ Bokuto’s address.  _

Walking outside into the hallway, he listened carefully for any sort of noise. The crack under his parents’ door showed no light, and the white-noise of his air conditioning unit proved complete silence from them. Back in his room, he grabbed his wallet and keys, not hesitating to shove both the paper  _ and  _ the bag into the same pocket. 

Bokuto  _ had  _ said he could come over whenever, right? 

* * *

_ Right.  _ He was admittedly second guessing himself after sneaking out of his apartment complex. If third-guessing was a thing, that’s what took place on the late-night train. Fourth-guessing came as soon as he walked a few kilometres to the nice neighbourhood. Not only were there specifically  _ only  _ houses, these were what he figured were estates. Fancy mansions with way more bathrooms than necessary, filled with people that sent their kids overseas for schooling. 

Even as he stood outside of Bokuto’s supposed house, scrap of paper in hand, he had trouble believing that this was where his friend lived. Keiji took out his phone, calling Bokuto with no avail. 

It rang once, and twice, and then three times more before he hung up, confused. 

_ Maybe he’s asleep. Maybe I walked here for nothing.  _

_ Fuck.  _

With a sigh, he rung up Kuroo instead, who conveniently picked up after two beats. 

“ _Akaashi?_ ”   
“I’m, um,” he paused, looking up at the large house. “Is it okay if I show up? To be with you guys?” 

Over the line, he can hear a genuine wail before Kuroo responded. “ _ I mean, like, sort of? This isn’t the greatest time, but I think he could use the support. Where are you? _ ” 

“I’m outside.” His eyebrows knit together. “Is everything alright?” 

“ _ Mm, not really. I’ll come get you. _ ” 

The call ended abruptly and Keiji blinked as a raindrop hit his head. He hadn’t checked the weather forecast before leaving, which was a mistake. He put his phone back into his pocket, hugging himself as it began to lightly drizzle down. In any other scenario, he would have been cautious enough to bring an umbrella, a jacket, and rain boots, but this was not one of those scenarios. 

A chill went down his spine. 

It felt kind of… _good_ to be underprepared for once. 

Rather than come through the front door, Kuroo appeared walking across the lawn a few minutes later. “Hey,” he said, covering his hair with an arm. “How long have you been out here?” 

“Not that long,” Keiji lied. He had stood outside for half an hour before finally calling. “Is Bokuto okay?” 

They began to walk together across the lawn once again, going around the outside of the house. “Yukie just broke up with him.”   
“Seriously?” His eyebrows raised. “I thought they were in a good place?”   
Kuroo shrugged. “Yeah, but she got an opportunity to finish university in Paris. She let him down maybe an hour ago, saying that she didn’t want him to struggle with doing a long-distance relationship.”   
That was a good point. Keiji knew from watching that he already struggled with busy weeks, where school kept the two from being face-to-face. “So they broke up?”   
“Yup.” He nodded. “I’ve been trying to calm him down, but nothing has worked so far.”   
“Jesus.”   
“Yeah.” 

The two had officially walked past the main house, revealing a smaller building. It was a two-story pool-house, just big enough to be one-and-a-half of Keiji’s parent’s apartment. Kuroo stepped forward, opening the door and waiting for him to walk in first.   
“I’ll grab you a towel, stay here.” He walked out of sight, leaving Keiji to take in the sight. 

The whole thing was cool to him, really. The decorations were all teenage boyish, photos covering the walls with fun little knick-knacks here and there. In the corner of the main room sat three different traffic signs, concerning Keiji in the slightest on how Bokuto had managed to obtain those. A bunch of other neon signs hung on the wall with fairy lights and fake ivy, making the entire thing feel more lived-in than Keiji’s own childhood bedroom. 

“Here.” Kuroo had returned, tossing him a towel. “Don’t get a cold.”   
He nodded a thanks before taking off his shoes by the door and following him upstairs. From here, the crying got louder. The bedroom-combination-living-area was just as decorated as the downstairs, with lights and posters and lamps galore. On an L-shaped couch in the centre, lay a curled up Bokuto on his side, tears streaming down his face. A television on the wall played some movie he didn’t recognise, but it didn’t appear that anyone was really watching, anyway. 

“Bo, Akaashi’s here.” 

“I-it doesn’t matter!” he sobbed into the couch, turning away from them. “My life will never be good again!” Bokuto choked over his own words, breaths ragged. 

Keiji and Kuroo made eye contact, both unsure what to say. “Your life is still good,” he decided to offer up, feeling as if he needed to contribute somehow. 

Sitting up, he looked at them with bloodshot, tear-filled eyes. “She’s the love of my life! You don’t get it.” 

Kuroo walks over to the couch, falling back onto it with a bounce. “It would have been harder for you to keep up with the timezone. Trust me, this will be better for you in the long run.”   
“But I have to deal with the short run first.” He leaned his head on Kuroo’s shoulder, hands hugging around his knees. “It’s not _fair_.”   
Keiji tentatively takes a few steps forward, holding his hands behind his back. “You just have to believe that things get better?” It’s more of a question than a definitive piece of advice. 

“Things will _never_ be better again.”   
He took a seat onto the other side of Bokuto, watching how Kuroo cradled his head. “Things always get better.” 

Bokuto sniffs. “They would if my booze stash was here.” 

The bag in his pocket suddenly feels way more prominent than it was before. He shifts uncomfortably on the couch. Bringing it up seems both insensitive and too soon. 

“I promise that the second I get ahold of my third-year buddy,” Kuroo pats his deflated hair, “we’ll get so drunk that we almost get alcohol poisoning.”   
“I’d like that.”   
The conversation ends, the only remaining noises being Bokuto’s quiet sobs. Keiji sits overly upright, back hardly touching the couch. With his hands on his kneecaps, he takes a deep breath in. 

“I have drugs on me.” 

Both Bokuto and Kuroo turn their heads towards him, more than surprised. Kuroo’s eyebrows furrow. “You have _what_?”   
Keiji swallows, pulling out the bag from his pocket. “It’s LSD.”   
“Dude.” Kuroo’s hand is moved as Bokuto shoves off of him. “Why?” 

“Because I bought it.”   
Bokuto grabs it out of his hands, carefully looking at each of the red tablets. “It’s actual acid?” 

“It should be.” He wrings his hands, nervous at the look Kuroo’s giving him. “I bought it with Kyou- a friend.”   
Like the polite guy he is, Bokuto opens it but hesitates before doing anything else. “Can we try it then? I’ll pay you if you want.”   
He shakes his head. “You don’t have to give me anything.” 

After wiping his eyes, he delicately pulls one out, first handing it to Keiji. “I’ll take it if you do.” 

It feels a little high school to do so, but even so Keiji nods and takes it in his hand. Both of them sit there, tablets in hand, unmoving. Kuroo watches them, the same uncomfortable expression on his face. They sit like that for a moment before Kuroo reaches over, grabbing one for himself. Internally with a sigh of relief, he decides to pop it in his mouth. Bokuto does the same, eyes widening when he notices him bite down. 

“Fuck, are you supposed to chew it?”   
“I don’t know!” 

“What, you don’t do this all the time?”   
“No! Do you?” 

“No!”    


_ No _ . 

Keiji was sitting upside down against the wall, legs stretching up onto the paint. With wide eyes, he watched Kuroo and Bokuto moving around, somehow staying upside down without falling up to the ceiling. 

It concerned him. 

He wasn’t quite sure what time it was, or when he started to feel it. What he did know, however, was that hardwood floors were weird as  _ fuck.  _

“It just moves,” he murmured to himself. “Little snakes on the wood.”   
Either his heartbeat was in his throat or his feet, but either way it felt normal. Or maybe more than normal. 

_ Less than normal?  _

His legs slipped to the side, bringing his whole body to move onto his side. This was way different from PVC. 

“PCP!” Keiji laughed out loud to himself, covering his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Fuck, man!” 

It wasn’t as though he was hitting the floor too late, or too early. Keiji knew how to walk.  _ God,  _ this was totally different. The hardwood moved like water, he noticed. Running his hand along the top, he partially wondered if it would make a splash when he stood up. 

A loud sound came from behind the couch, catching his attention. Very slowly, Keiji got to his feet and walked over. Leaning on the backrest, he looked at Bokuto sprawled out onto the floor, simultaneously sobbing and crying. 

“I will never feel love again,” he cried out, turning on his stomach and reaching out to hug Kuroo’s ankles. 

“Man, like,” Keiji sympathetically reached to his heart, gripping his shirt, “we still love you.”   
Kuroo nodded, snapping in his direction. “Exactly, dude.”   
Bokuto practically weeps. “I can’t kiss my friends!”   
“Not with that attitude.”   
Keiji stumbles over towards them, squatting down towards him. “You need to stop thinking about her.” 

He burrows his head into the carpet. “Everything makes me think of her.”   
“Then let’s clear your head.”   
Kuroo and Keiji’s list of things to clear his head does hardly anything. It started with a spoonful of wasabi, but Bokuto cried about how much she loved spicy food. Then, they tried dancing to one of the many vinyl albums in his music crate, but it just reminded him about how much fun they had dancing together. The list went on and on, playing video games, vacuuming, and even reading through his literature textbook. 

“She was so smart,” he puts his head in his hands. 

The two made eye contact before shrugging and turning back towards him. A crack of thunder comes from outside, reminding Keiji of the rain from before. 

“I have an idea.” He says, tilting his head towards the stairs. 

Everybody followed him to the downstairs bathroom, where he flicked on the lights and pointed to the shower. 

“I’m not taking a shower,” Bokuto grumbles, attempting to leave before Kuroo shoves him back in. 

Keiji messes with the handle for a moment, before turning the water on. He reaches out and grabs Bokuto’s hand. “Trust me?”   
They stare at each other for a few seconds before Bokuto sighs and allows him to pull him forwards. “I don’t think showering will help, though.”   
“We’re not showering.”   
He steps into the tub, sitting down with legs hanging over the rim. Both Kuroo and Bokuto blink at him as the water runs down his hair, beginning to soak his clothing.   
“Dude.”   
“Oh.”   
Keiji closes his eyes and leans his head against the tiled wall, happy when he hears the movement coming to join him. He and Bokuto sit like that, water soaking them with their clothing still fully on. The flash of a camera is audible, and he opens his eyes to see Kuroo taking a picture with his phone. 

“Y’all look dumb as hell.”   
“It feels kind of good though.” Bokuto’s hair has been completely flattened by the water. He sighs into the warm water, exhaling. Keiji watches his chest rise and fall as he calms down. Even if it was just for a single moment, it had actually kind of worked. 

* * *

“This is the album cover I made,” Kuroo says, showing them the paper he had just printed out. 

Bokuto stops rinsing Keiji’s hair, taking a moment to laugh at it. “Dude, that photo’s old as shit.” 

Keiji reaches for the towel on the ground, drying off his hair and sitting up. “What photo?”   
Kuroo hands him the paper, raising an eyebrow at Bokuto’s work. “Nice frosted tips, what is this, 2001?” He gives a shit-eating grin and grabs the towel. 

He frowns slightly, holding a hand up to his damp hair. “I think it looks cool, fuck off.” 

After giving a roll of the eyes, he takes the paper and looks down at the printed image. Like Bokuto said, it  _ is  _ an old photo. It’s cropped down to an album size with the two texts saying their band name and their new album, “ _ Airhead _ ” across the picture of himself and Bokuto, sitting in the shower fully clothed, water dripping down from their hair. Both of their eyes are closed and they just look at peace, even though you can tell one of them had been crying if you looked close enough. 

“Jesus, man,” he chuckles. “How old is this now, like seven years? Eight years? How’d you even find it?” It’s a cool album cover, however. He likes it a lot. 

Kuroo takes it back and lets him continue drying his newly-bleached frosted tips. “Right? I had printed it out at some point. Found it in an old box. Thought with a bit of editing, it could be a sick cover.”   
“What was even the context for that?” Bokuto asks, tossing the box of dye into the trashcan like a basketball, and then missing. “Gee, it was so long ago.”   
“I dunno.” Keiji’s eyes trail towards the window, noticing how it had recently begun to drizzle. 

“Guess it was just a moment then, yeah?” 

“Yeah.”   
The rain hit the window of the bathroom, making him feel something sad, almost. He shakes his head with a sigh, reaching into his hoodie pocket for the bottle. Bokuto and Kuroo fool around in the background as he dry-swallows the acid pill, rathering to calm the itch in his fingers than dwell on the subject any longer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmm evening  
> so school started. im still gonna try to write as soon as i can inbetween updates, i promise. but if it takes me a minute let's be forgiving please lmao anyway have you ever showered whilst high that's a completely diff kinda vibe. same with showering drunk. actually, just shower in general. we love good hygiene here.  
> if you have twitter or summ drop your @, i'll give you a follow <3 bc i need more mutuals (even though my acc is personal)  
> tysm for reading !! really does mean the world. every kudos and comment is like a lovely little pat to my head in which i must thank you once again. thanks babes <3
> 
> make sure to wash your hands, stay home, and be healthy. stay safe, homies. i'll cya next time^^


	5. track five - ghost town

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry it's been awhile

“Okay, so if you just-”   
“Plug in, yeah.”   
“Then mess with settings a little,” Bokukto kneels towards the table, turning some of the knobs on the pedal. “Alright, play something.”   
Keiji starts with the opening bassline to the song they had been working on. It’s a simple, one-note pattern for the first few measures, and really it had only taken him a day to learn the whole thing with sight-reading and his quick memorisation for patterns. However, after the first measure, he abruptly pauses at the sound. 

“Woah.” He moves to pick up the pedal, looking at the settings. “That sounded  _ crazy _ .” 

It was different from most distortion pedals he had used prior. The drip on the notes was way more prominent than his own synth pedal at home. It was almost cartoonish. 

Bokuto grins at him. “Right? It’s a German pedal my mom bought a few years ago. The ‘rock’ setting is  _ insane _ .” 

He nods, turning back to his bass and playing a measure with more note changes at the end of the second verse. It’s got a different feel than what he had been playing during any of their rehearsals. A week has passed since that first night of summer break. Keiji’s parents somehow believed his “Oh, I got up early to get coffee with somebody” story, thinking he actually had a secret girlfriend to keep up with, after he came back in a spare pair of Bokuto’s dry clothing at seven in the morning. Almost every day he had showed up to hang out, although it had taken a few days for the continuous crying to end. 

Now, Friday morning, Bokuto finally felt up to playing again. They had mostly tinkered with improv jam sessions, or the occasional cover of a song they liked. Nobody had spoken of their crash-and-burn dream of performing the English cover at the talent showcase. Not only was the lyrical issue present, but something about it just felt… cookie-cutter and boring. 

Keiji thought to himself about it, continuing to play the bassline with a frown. His fingers paused before he reached over to the metronome, changing the bpm from one-oh-eight to one-eighteen. Closing his eyes and bobbing his head along with the slightly faster tempo before playing once again. 

“Oh,” Bokuto pushed off the wall he leaned against, arms uncrossing. “I like that. Keep playing.” 

He jogs across the room to grab his guitar, throwing the strap around his neck. As he bent down to plug it into his amp and flip on the switch, Keiji traced a line down his back with his eyes, head still bobbing to the beat as he played. Bokuto waits a measure before he gets back to the main melody to join in, playing as he always did. 

It’s good, but not good enough. 

“Stop.” Keiji says with a wince as he himself stops playing. “Stop playing from the sheet music.”   
Bokuto cocks his head, pick flipping between his fingers. “What do you mean?”   
A million words to explain run through his head, but none of them make sense. He frowns, looking down and tapping his fingers on his thigh in beat with the metronome. “You’re just playing what it says to play. I know how you like to play, so do that.” 

It takes him a moment to understand, but when he does his face lights up. “Oh! Oh, wait!” 

Bokuto kneels back down to the amp, turning it up way louder than it probably should be, and reaches to the drawer of pedals. He grabs a red one, plugging his guitar into it and messing with it before pointing back to Keiji. 

“Ready?”   
He nods. “Ready.”   
For the third time, Keiji plays the opening bassline once again and makes eye contact with Bokuto. He counts under his breath, foot tapping along with the beat, before grinning and striking down with an _insanely_ loud chord. Kuroo, who had been napping on the couch during all of this, sits up with a gasp.

Bokuto continues to play his own thing, dramatically changing the sound of his original part. Occasionally, his improvisation falls off beat, but he’s always quick to get back when he catches himself. It’s impressive, and it’s fun. Keiji liked the song before; it was classic rock, of course he liked it. Now, it was louder and more active, the sound of Bokuto’s punk rock style flowing into both ears and seeping into every crevice of his brain. He smiles, nodding to the song as Kuroo walks over to them with a bedhead worse than usual. 

After noticing him, Bokuto stops with a grin. Keiji stops as well. 

“Kuroo, you’re up!” He kicks up towards him. “Did you like that? I think it sounded cool.” He continues to ramble on and on as Keiji leans over to the metronome and snaps it off. 

“Did you change the tempo?” Kuroo points over at him. “That was faster.” 

He nods. “One-eighteen.” 

Kuroo gives a thumbs up, moving to the other side of the room where the drum kit stood. Inside Bokuto’s main house was an  _ actual  _ music studio. His mom was a fairly large producer and used to play music when she was younger, so Bokuto had the privilege all his life to have access to proper equipment and practice areas. It was amazing to Keiji, but he was still definitely envious at some level. 

Bokuto had moved over to work with Kuroo for the moment, setting up the second metronome for him and grabbing headphones for him. “Akaashi told me to play however you want, you try too.”   
He jogs back, throwing the strap back over his shoulder before nodding towards Kurro. “Okay, three, two, one!” 

Kuroo starts playing the usual drum pattern as a start before Bokuto joins in for the opening. It’s a little clunky and very obviously improvised, but it’s a start. Keiji counts in his head with a smile before finally playing the bassline. It’s where there should be vocals, but all three of them have a silent, mutual agreement that those never worked out anyway. 

After the first few measures, Kuroo starts playing more personalised fills but keeps most of the original beat the same. Improvised changes throw them off on the occasion, but around the middle of the song everyone has fallen into each other’s rhythms. Before he really realised, the songs ended. 

Kuroo throws off his headphones with a smile. “That wasn’t bad. I liked that a lot more than the one we did before.”   
Keiji nods before looking at Bokuto. “Do you think you could try singing again?”   
Despite his chest moving up and down quickly with him being out of breath, he grins. “Of course! We’ll get it this time.”   
They don’t even get to the chorus. 

Bokuto sits against the floor, head in his hands grumbling about how he can’t do anything right.  _ He’s hit a low _ , Keiji notes. This happens often when practices go like shit. It shouldn’t feel exhausting, but it is. He pulls the strap off, placing his bass back onto the stand before moving to sit next to Bokuto against the wall. 

He and Kuroo make eye contact before he sighs. “We can always play another song.” 

Bokuto huffs. “It sounded so good before, though.” His voice is muffled before he moves his head upwards. “I wanted people to be able to hear that.” 

As he’s trying to think of a response, Bokuto leans his head against Keiji’s shoulder. Any words that had formulated in his mind catch in his throat. It’s hard to remember, sometimes. Bokuto is a touchy friend. Bokuto likes to touch. Bokuto is a friend. 

_ And that’s okay.  _

He swallows, finally opening his mouth to talk. “Why don’t we translate it?” 

From across the room, Kuroo raises an eyebrow. “What, like ourselves?”   
“Yeah.” Looking at Kuroo gives his brain an excuse to not think about the touch. “That way, Bokuto would have an easier time singing and staying on time.”   
This perks him up. “Really? Could we do that?” 

Keiji nods again for the millionth time. “I mean, yeah. It would take a while, but I think we could.” 

A while was an understatement. 

“Keiji.”   
The sound of his father’s voice resurrects him from where he sat at the kitchen table. He’s not sure how long he dozed off for, but the sky has changed from inky grey to just before sunrise. 

“Morning,” he sighed. “Are you going to work?” 

His father nodded with a frown, watching him wipe drool off his cheek. “Did you stay up for homework?” 

He glanced down at his paper with English lyrics on one side and his attempt at translating into Japanese on the other. It’s decorated in eraser marks and crossed out sections where he had difficulty finding a transition that both made sense  _ and  _ rhymed. When he first started, he got twelve lines in before realising it didn’t rhyme or flow at  _ all.  _ By the time he began to count syllables and change wording for a rhyme scheme, it was four in the morning. The last thing he remembered was crying for approximately seven seconds before laying his head down onto the table to rest his eyes. 

Now, Keiji was awake and noticing that he had taken too long to respond. “Oh, uh, yeah. Over-break project my teacher gave me.” 

“Hm,” his father hummed as he poured coffee in his mug. “Which class?” 

His brain freezes for a second. “Oh, uh, English. I have to translate a poem.” It was actually a project he had last semester, so the lie wasn’t  _ that  _ elaborate. “I might go over to work with some friends on it later.” 

“You’re a good kid.” He looks over at Keiji. “Y’know, the neighbour's son is one of those delinquent types, messing around with drugs and parties. His future is going down the drain.”   
Keiji gives a sympathetic grimace towards his dad. “Oh, wow.” 

“I know.” Grumbling, he moves to the table to pack his briefcase. “Total waste of potential. I’m lucky you’re more responsible than that. We never have to worry about you like his parents.” 

He continued to complain about teens and how they ruin their lives with drugs, drinking, and the absolute  _ disrespect  _ of party culture has on society. Now and then Keiji would respond in agreeing hums as he continued to try and translate a lyric on his paper. After a few minutes, his father left for work with a click of the door behind him. Staring into space, he enjoyed the moment of silence. 

His father always had some opinion about the people around him. 

* * *

Keiji blew out a thick stream of smoke, holding the joint delicately in front of him before passing it back to Kuroo. The two sat on the roof of Bokuto’s separate housing, going over the paper he had worked on since the night before. Bokuto was there too, but he had rendered himself incapable of conversation after seeing a photo of Yukie in a group photo on somebody’s instagram post. He laid down on the roof with his head in Kuroo’s lap, crying softly as Kuroo would run his hand through his hair almost subconsciously. 

Once again, he found himself feeling somewhat envious, not even sure what of. 

“This sentence is weird,” Kuro says before taking a hit, tilting his head back. “Do you think we can change it?” 

Keiji practically sobs and laughs at the same time, putting his hands over his eyes and falling back onto the roof. “If you change that, we have to start the rhyme scheme all over.”   
“Oh my god.”   
“I know.” 

He’s exhausted from his single hour of sleep, the buzz in his head not helping. Staring up at the sky, he hears Kuroo take another hit and exhale slowly for holding the joint back down to him. 

“Last two, you want?” 

“Sure.”   
With a bit of effort, he pushes himself up enough to take it out of Kuroo’s hand and finish what was left of the joint. It hurts his throat a little when he takes it in one, rather than two. Coughing, Keiji scowls and presses the stub onto the roof material. 

“Am I unloveable?” Bokuto says out of the blue, not moving from his position. 

The other two look down at him, a little surprised. 

“If you weren’t loveable, she wouldn’t have been with you for as long as she was.” Kuroo shrugs and ruffles his hair. “There wasn’t any mal intent in her reason, Bo.” 

He rolls onto his back to gain eye contact with Kuroo. “I can handle a long-distance relationship, though! She just wants some sexy guy from France that can make good schnitzel.” 

_ Oh no.  _ Keiji gives him a sympathetic look.  _ He’s mixed up France and Germany.  _

“Bokuto,” He clears his throat, “I’m sure that Yukie was just keeping you in mind when making her decision. Long-distance is harder than most people expect.” 

“I’m never going to be whole again.” 

Kuroo huffs a laugh under his breath. “Yeah?”   
“Yeah.”   
  


After a week, Kuroo and Keiji have frankensteined a less-than great Japanese translation to the lyrics. Bokuto takes a day or two to memorise it, and then finally they’re able to practice with singing.   
Much to their surprise, it isn’t bad. 

It actually isn’t bad at all, and the goal of reaching perfection in their performance takes over Bokuto’s mindset completely. One thing Keiji’s noticed is how once given a task, his brain will solely work on that task and nothing else comes up. The three of them won’t even stop for breaks until somebody’s hands are bleeding because Bokuto physically will not stop. 

It’s interesting to him. 

Finally, at the end of break, they have it down to a science. Five days out of the week, they’ll practice for four hours in the morning, four hours in the afternoon, and then two hours in the evening. It’s exhausting, and by the end of July his fingers are wrapped up with bandages every day, but it pays off. 

It’s better than not being bad. 

It’s actually good. 

* * *

He hugs his parents goodbye outside of the dorms before returning inside the familiar building. Keiji had grown accustomed to the smell during school, but after walking in after a month and a half his chest was filled with a sort of nostalgia at the atmosphere. 

Kenma is already unpacking by the time he walks in. The two give a mutual nod towards each other, Keiji not bothering to say anything. His roommate’s headphones are on, which he had learnt over time meant, “ _ if you bother me right now I will practically hiss at you. _ ” 

After unzipping his bag and taking out his university sweatshirt, he pauses. Right underneath lay the plastic bag filled with now 3 fewer red tablets. Keiji reaches down towards it, thinking about the time he tripped with Bokuto and Kuroo at the beginning of summer. 

Something swirls around the bottom of his stomach. Something like desire. 

Kenma kicks at the back of his ankle, causing him to jump out of his skin before turning to face him. 

“What’s up with your hands?” He nods down at his individually bandaged fingers. “Did you get burned or something?”   
He gives a small laugh. “Played a lot of music over break.”   
“Oh. With them.”   
“Yeah, with them.”   
Kenma grabs the hand with the tattoo on it, admiring his work. “Did your parents notice?”   
“They didn’t really look hard enough.”   
He seems pleased with this, somehow. “Think I could do another one?”   
It’s been a month or two since the first one. Keiji thinks back to the experience, not particularly remembering how it went. “Yeah, sure.” 

“Cool.”   
“Cool.”   


He decided that he was going to start saying no more often. The two were sitting on their dorm floor, Kenma stabbing his upper thigh over and over and Keiji biting down on a pillow. 

The pain stopped for a moment. “You hanging on?”   
“Remind me to never agree to this again,” he says weakly.   
Kenma laughs a little and gives him a warning before starting again. It’s awful and the only thing he can think of is to imagine practicing with Bokuto and Kuroo again. Break really helped heal some of the tension between him and Kuroo. The unspoken rule was simple: neither of them talked about it, and everything stayed fine. 

It was the easiest way to prevent any foreseeable conflict, at least. 

“You guys are performing at the showcase, right?” Kenma continues his work, the needle going in and out and in and out and in and- 

“Akaashi.”    
It brings him back to reality. “Hm?”   
“Aren’t you performing at the talent showcase?” 

He sighs and leans his head back against the bedpost. “Don’t remind me.”   
“What are you playing?” The stabbing pauses as he wipes at the skin before returning to massacre his leg with an outline of a broken music note. “I heard Bokuto made a big scene begging you to do it.”   
Keiji’s a little surprised that Kenma’s updated on gossip. “I was sworn to secrecy, sort of.” He exhales out of his nose as a sort of laugh. “Bokuto made me sign so on a cafe napkin.”   
“That sounds very Bokuto.”   
His head tilts down to his thigh, mentally admitting that he likes this one a lot. It reminds him of Kuroo’s. “Why do you hate them?”  
Kenma shrugs before wiping again. “Bokuto made Kuroo more showey. He used to be more quiet and closed off.” He glances up. “But I don’t hate them. I don’t think I hate anybody.”   
He hums a response, letting the conversation fall. It’s fairly obvious that there’s no convincing him at this point. 

* * *

Nothing in Keiji’s life has ever felt more terrifying than the twenty-four hour countdown to the show. Then the twelve hour, then the eight hour, and now the half-hour countdown. He had to hand it to Bokuto, though. 

Never in his life had he had an anxiety attack whilst wearing a skirt. 

“Breathe,” Kuroo’s hand rubbed a slow circle just below the nape of his neck. “It won’t last long.”   
He’s bent over a trash can dry heaving in one of the small back-stage rooms, shirtless, but still wearing the skirt Yukie helped him find. Inside his chest, his lungs feel completely compressed, pressure on both sides keeping him from being able to breathe steadily. Every few moments or so, he starts to gag again with the threat that something might come up despite not having eaten all day. 

Keiji’s brain feels fuzzy, like he might pass out. 

He’s fairly certain he’s about to pass out. 

“You still with me?” Kuroo’s voice reminds him where he is for a moment. “Do you want me to leave?” 

His lungs unclench for a moment. “No-  _ please _ , don’t.” 

He hums at that. “Still as formal as ever.” 

The door slides open, Bokuto bursting inside. “I got water! There was such a long line at the store, I’m so sorry.” 

“Jesus, dude. Did you run in heels?”   
“I forgot to change into my sneakers!” 

A water bottle is handed down to him. Keiji takes it with a shaking hand, a zap of life coming back to him after feeling the cool condensation on the bottle. He holds it up to his forehead, closing his eyes and letting the cold sensation allow him to regain some cognitive thought. 

Bokuto squats down next to him. “How many strings are on a bass?” He asks it quietly with his hands on his knees. 

He glances at him with a furrowed brow, not understanding. Bokuto however, doesn’t explain and just waits for him to answer. 

“Four.” A drop of water from the condensation rolls down his forehead. 

“How many on a guitar?”   
“Six.” 

They go through a few other stringed instruments before starting over with a pattern. The third time they run through it, Keiji feels the pressure in his chest decrease. He shifts from under Kuroo’s touch to sit against the wall, the brick cool to his bare back. Uncapping the water bottle, he takes a swig and closes his eyes. 

“How’re you feeling?” Kuroo took a step back to give him some space. 

The water feels good running down his throat. Helps clear his mind some. “Better.” He looks down at Bokuto. “Where’d you learn that?” 

Bokuto smiles at him. “Before my first ever music recital, my mom did that to calm me down. Helps take your mind off things.” 

“That’s one way to do it.” He fiddles with the bottle before taking another drink. “I think I’m ready now.” 

Kuroo watches him take a shaky few steps towards the bag with his costume. “You sure?”   
It’s a fair question. Keiji really isn’t sure of the answer himself. So instead of a definitive answer, he shrugs and pulls on the tube top. In the full length mirror, he cringes at himself. There’s no way to say it but harsh. 

He looks like an idiot

Maybe on girls this would look nice, but with his completely rectangular body without a single curve or area where he was filled out and looked nice, he just looked so incredibly stupid. 

Back before break when Bokuto had said it wasn’t exaggerated, he hadn’t lied. From what he knew, this wasn’t exactly drag. Keiji watches Bokuto pull his own skirt on  _ with  _ his heels already on. There are no wigs, no eccentric makeup, no real attempts to look like girls or like girl caricatures. With a groan, he puts his hands up to his eyes. 

“What’s wrong?” Bokuto asks concerned, most likely assuming the worst. 

Keiji exhales softly before answering. “We’re about to be in cross-dressing in front of a crowd.”  
It makes Kuroo laugh. “C’mon. It’ll be fine. The worst thing that happens is that we get ridiculed for the rest of our school careers.” 

Bokuto backs him up like that option isn’t completely terrible. It hardly instils any confidence in him, but it’s enough to make him shut up about the topic. Even if Keiji refused to wear it with them, he’d look equally as stupid for sticking out. It’s a lose if he does it and it’s a lose if he doesn’t. So there he sat, allowing Kuroo to shakily attempt the eyeliner Yukie did that one day. It’s hysterically awful, both thick and terrible, but by the time they’re going to wipe it off, somebody knocks on their door. 

“Get ready, you’re on in five.” It’s a kid he might recognize, somebody on his dorm floor. They pause, looking at their costumes before blinking and leaving. 

Before he’s ready, he’s dragged to the stage, closed off from the crowd with the curtain. Keiji plugs in his bass to the amp and pedal, playing a chord quietly before looking back towards Bokuto and Kuroo setting up their own stuff. It’s dark with the curtain down and the lights off. Everybody might see him, but that’s fine. 

_ Oh my god, that’s not fine.  _

Bokuto snaps at him to gain his attention. “Akaashi!” He whispers a little too loudly towards him. “Nobody is looking, nobody will care, and if they  _ do  _ care, you don’t.” 

Every single statement he made had no truth to them. 

In the background of his mind, he hears someone on a mic introducing them. The curtains rise, the lights turn on, and Keiji realises he forgot to wear his  _ fucking shoes. _ His thoughts start to feel carbonated and full of panic. As soon as the three are fully visible, there’s a mixture of laughter and conversation in the crowd. Keiji whips his head around to look at Kuroo, who mouths something he can’t process and gives him a thumbs up. 

Bokuto turns on the mic, tapping it once before smiling at the crowd. “Good evening,” he says in a comically high voice, imitating a girl’s. “We’re here to really knock your socks off,” his voice lowers back to normal, causing another round of laughter. “Of course, only if you’ll let us.” He goes back to the girly voice, inciting a bunch of cheers at him. 

He’s a crowd pleaser, it’s obvious.

Keiji sees somebody point at him, and he loses all the feeling in his hands. 

_ Everybody is looking.  _

_ Everybody cares. _

_ I’m going to pass out.  _

“Ready?” 

Bokuto’s voice resuscitates him as he looks over, speaking away from the mic with a smile. He absolutely isn’t ready at all, but the longer he waits, the longer he’ll be on stage. He nods back, gripping onto the bass neck as if his life depended on it. He’s lucky, really, that he has the strap over his neck. His hands are so slick from nervous sweat that he would have dropped it without the extra support. 

After giving Kuroo the signal, the beat starts. It’s the same thing they’ve practiced for weeks upon weeks, the same simple beat that currently is making his heart work faster and faster with every second. Soon, he’ll have to join in. 

It’s funny really. Every year since he had started playing the violin, Keiji has played in recitals. He had never had nerves like this before. But back then, he never wore a skirt on stage. 

Bokuto starts singing, and Keiji realises he missed his first beat. Panicked, he starts playing to catch up, trying to ignore the worried glance Bokuto gives him. His hands are shaking, and he starts to forget the music. 

This is bad. 

Bokuto notices this and plays a little louder, a little more stylistic, a little more improvised. This is not at all what they practiced. 

This is bad. 

Kuroo stays consistent, but Keiji’s fairly certain he can feel eyes bearing into his back. He can actually feel the eyes bearing into every inch of skin. He can feel it from every person in the crowd, from the eyes of the gods, and from the entire universe looking at him and wondering why he isn’t playing. 

This is really bad. 

He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. 

_ Nobody is looking.  _

_ Nobody cares.  _

_ If they care, you don’t.  _

His ears pick up on the section of the song they’re in, and he joins in. It’s better this time, less shaky, more on-beat, and just liked they practiced. He’s a musician, after all. He can play his instrument. 

This is fine. 

Bokuto’s energy is carrying their entire performance. Despite playing his heart out and singing their totally botched translation, he still maintains enough performance energy to move around the stage and charm the crowd. It’s hypnotising and more professional than Keiji thinks he could ever be. Under his breath, he sings along to the lyrics.

When looking back into the crowd, he notices that it’s more positive than he expected. People cheer and clap to the beat, people record and wave their phones with the flashlights on, people definitely laugh and joke to their friends about how ridiculous the get-up is, but that’s okay. 

If they care, Keiji doesn’t. 

The song feels like it ends sooner than it started, Bokuto giving a final stretch with his performance on the guitar before finishing with a hand in the air. His grin goes from ear to ear as he receives the audible praise from the crowd. 

“Thank you,” he says slightly out of breath, “and good night!” 

With that, he continues to wave at the people in the crowd and blow kisses until the curtain drops. Stage crew helps them move the drum kit and amps as Bokuto pulls off his guitar and throws his arms around Keiji. 

“You did good, bro.”   
He didn’t, but the statement makes his chest feel warm. Bokuto gets off of him, which is a slight relief since he got rather sweaty from the performance, and helps some of the people move the equipment so the next act could prepare. 

Kuroo jogs over and lightly punches his arm. “Don’t stress, okay? It was really good for our first show.”   
The two walk back off stage to grab their things from their rooms, passing by other people telling them it was a great show. Keiji dodges any touches from people nearby, legs still shaky from the adrenaline. He’s caught between loving how things went, and wanting to cry from how badly he messed up the beginning. 

In the safety of the room, Keiji rubs at his eyes and desperately tries to hold back tears. He takes a deep breath in, holding it for a moment before releasing it and looking back down at his hands.   
“Fuck,” he mutters, looking at the smudged black on his palms. He forgot about the eyeliner. 

Bokuto and Kuroo are changing back into their normal clothes, talking back and forth about the show. 

“I had a really bad fill, like, halfway through,” Kuroo pulls up his jeans and buttons them. “I swear to god, I lost grip on the drumstick and totally fell off beat.”   
Bokuto laughs at that as he kicks off his heels. “I completely forgot the words some time after the second verse. I kinda just repeated something from the beginning.” 

It’s easy for them to talk about messing up. It’s easy for them to laugh about mistakes without sounding like they’re going to burst into tears. It’s easy and he’s jealous. 

He’s caught watching them, eyeliner smudged around his eyes like a raccoon. Bokuto grins at him. 

“You did a good job getting back into it,” he says, changing shirts. “Nobody even noticed.”   
“I’m fairly certain they did.” Keiji looks down at himself, still wearing his costume. He pulls down the skirt and reaches for his pants. “It was really obvious.”   
Bokuto shrugs. “They’re not the ones performing, they don’t get it. It’s always scary the first time.”   
That’s the worst part. It isn’t the first time. This should have been no different from any other recital he had been in. 

Kuroo hands him a makeup wipe. “The next show will be better.”   
He takes the wipe and cleans his face, internally rolling his eyes. As far as he’s concerned, that was the last performance he’ll _ever_ be in. 

A few hours after the showcase, Bokuto offers to take them off-campus to a senior’s party. Keiji considered saying no, he  _ does  _ have a class in the afternoon tomorrow, but still somehow ends up on the subway with Boktuo, Kuroo, and a group of their friends that he doesn’t really know. He couldn’t get all of the darkness from the eyeliner off of his skin with the one wipe, and water hardly did anything. It feels stupid and he assumes everybody around him is thinking the same thing. 

When they get off at a station, Keiji notices one of the girls walking next to him. He thinks he might know her, familiar from  _ somewhere,  _ but he can’t put her face to a name. She doesn’t talk to him, but it looks like she might want to. 

He isn’t quite sure what to make of that. 

Bokuto and Kuroo walk ahead with another boy who’s name slips his mind. He’s got a girl on his arm that Keiji can assume to be his girlfriend, but she seems to get along well with Kuroo in teasing the boy. He’d love to go up and talk to them, but it would be awkward inserting himself into a dynamic he isn’t familiar with.   
As he’s thinking over the possible ways to introduce himself and try to get in with the group, the girl next to him quietly clears her throat. 

“I, uh,” she fumbles with her fingers, “I liked your show.” 

“Oh.” Keiji forgets how to speak for a second. “Thank you.” 

She looks down at her feet as they approach the neighbourhood where the party is at. “It was really cool of you guys to do something like that. I don’t think anyone else at our school would be brave enough to.” 

He laughs a little. “It was mostly Bokuto’s idea. The rest of us simply complied to his will.”   
The girl still won’t look up at him. “You speak very formally.”   
“Yeah?”   
“Yeah.”   


It’s maybe an hour and a half later, when he’s getting to know her. It’s a little more personal than he really thought it would get, and he’s also a little fuzzy on the details. They started an actual conversation sometime before the first drink. It was about music and how many instruments he plays. Then there was another drink at some point, and she talked about how she wanted to be a social worker. 

That was all he had. Those two drinks were the only thing he had taken.

Now, he’s in somebody’s locked office-type room with her tongue in his mouth and the lights off. Once again, he’s a little fuzzy on how this even happened. It’s different from the time in the woods with Kuroo. He isn’t as drunk as then and this is nothing like kissing Kuroo. 

He feels like he’s supposed to be leading, but he isn’t really a good kisser like Kuroo. There’s a lot of accidental teeth and at one point, he thinks he might have bitten her tongue. It’s probably good practice, but there’s no spark in his stomach this time. After a few minutes, she pulls away. 

“You can touch me, y’know.” Her voice is quiet and careful, like she’s unsure of how he’ll react. 

“What’s your name?” Keiji responds, fairly out of breath. 

Her face goes a little red, he can tell even in the dark. “Oh, um, Eri.” 

“Nice to meet you.”   
“You too.” 

Neither of them really say anything for a moment, but then she takes his hands. “Akaashi,” she swallows hard. “I want to have sex with you.” 

“Oh.” 

He’s not sure why he does it. He really isn’t sure. Eri’s nice and she’s cute, he thinks, but his brain feels like it’s on autopilot. When he closes his eyes and falls into a good rhythm, it takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for the coil in the bottom of his stomach to release, leaving him gasping for breath. Once the fog in his head clears, Keiji pulls away and lays down on his back on the floor next to her. It’s probably rude, but he doesn’t think about her. He really hasn’t the entire time the two had sex. It took a lot of subconscious thinking for him to get through the entire ordeal. 

Somehow, Keiji always imagined losing his virginity would be a much bigger deal. 

After the two get themselves sorted, Eri laughs a breathy apology before saying that she needs to find her friend, Mika, and get back to their circle housing. Either she’s being genuine, or he was just  _ that _ disappointing. 

He’s guessing that it might be the latter, but it’s fine by him. 

Keiji pulls on his shirt and leaves the party by himself, after that. He really does have a class tomorrow, anyway. It’s a quiet walk back to the train station, long enough to sober himself up as well. At only around one in the morning, he wonders if someone else might be awake. Pulling out his phone, he sends a text with little care. It’s a weird night anyway. 

His mind drifts back to the performance. Everyone said his mess-up was fine, but Keiji still couldn’t help but feel responsible for ruining the entire show. The memory of going on stage with no shoes, no feeling in his hands, no ability to calm down and play just like they had practiced… he truly  _ ruined  _ it for the rest of the band. 

And even so, Bokuto had looked like the entire world was on his side as the crowd cheered. 

In his pocket, his phone buzzed. Keiji pulled it out, reading the message with relief. He’d be fine if there was no response, but this was more ideal. Once again, it was good to have somebody on his side. 

The feeling of the cold metal picnic table under his legs gave him goosebumps, still, it was a nice spot to look up at the night sky. Keiji was counting stars when he heard footsteps coming up.

“I saw your show today,” Kyoutani says as he climbs up to sit next to him. “You guys looked really stupid.”   
He huffs out a laugh. “Gee, thanks.” 

“What did you need?” 

Keiji looks down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. “I had sex with a girl tonight.”   
There’s silence from Kyoutani for a few seconds. “Uh, congratulations? Did you figure things out then?” 

He looks over at him with the ends of his mouth downturned into a frown. “I…” Keiji puts his hands up to his eyes, “don’t  _ ever  _ want to be so close to a girl’s chest again.” 

This makes him laugh, breaking some of the awkward tension. “They’re not so bad. Confirmed then?” 

“I think so.” 

A hand claps him gently on the back. “Good for you, man.” 

Kyoutani doesn’t leave after that. He waits for him to seem a little more fine, before they delve into talking about what happens. Keiji gets told several times that Kyoutani could care less about his sex life, but still manages to rag on him for whatever he could.

“You didn’t even touch her?” He asks with wide eyes. “You  _ bastard. _ ” 

It’s hard not to laugh a little. “It couldn’t have been more than three minutes either. I feel so bad for her.” 

Kyoutani laughs too. “Aren’t you the charmer. Didn’t know her name until after making out and definitely is being made fun of by a group of girls right now.” 

“Oh no,” Keiji says with a fake sad tone, “no girl will ever sleep with me _ever again._ ”   
Even though his eyes burn from his lack of sleep, and today has been one of the worst performances of his entire career, the moment he’s in now feels relieving. 

Nobody can see him. 

Nobody cares. 

Especially not himself. 

* * *

Out of everybody in the band, Keiji is the most quiet about his sex life. Bokuto is notorious for having fun and sleeping around, that’s just who he is. Kuroo isn’t public with his own, but he also isn’t terribly private about it. There are a lot of articles about how “brave” he is with his sexuality in this day and age, but he never brings it up during interviews or with anybody who isn’t close. And then himself. He’s been labelled the “mysterious” one. He knows about thirst trap tweets about him, and he occasionally scrolls through his tagged photos to see the various posts about him. Keiji knows how to keep all of his private life just that- private. 

After a fairly uneventful first date, Keiji realised he didn’t really have anything else to do. Most of the time, his first dates were his only dates. He found after a while that dating never seemed to really go that well. He couldn’t hold a single relationship for longer than three months. For the most part, it kept his life more simple. No one to leave lonely as he went on tour, no one to worry when he was crossed at parties, no one to worry about his health when he pulled all-nighters to write songs. 

The other man collapsed on the bed, breathing heavily as Keiji got up to grab one of the hotel towels. “Clean yourself off,” he called out softly before tossing the towel. 

He gave a brief thanks that got cut off by Keiji closing the bathroom door. Once alone, he sighed and leaned against the sink completely naked. It was satisfying, it really was, but it felt like the same, mundane kind of satisfying that he had dealt with for years. Looking down at his body, he swiped a thumb over the fading tattoo on his upper thigh. It was hard to tell what it was anymore, but deep down, he still liked it. 

Keiji stood up straight, glancing at his phone on the counter. He turned on the shower, as to not raise any real suspicion of him not being okay to avoid another conversation, and picked up his phone to call an uber to go anywhere that wasn’t his own hotel room. 

Once placing the order, he got sidetracked on social media. Realistically speaking, he  _ did  _ need to shower, but there was nothing wrong with wasting time. He smelled like sweat and sex, and he felt disgusting, but at this point he had grown immune to the feeling. 

At the top of his feed was a photo of somebody he hadn’t thought about in a while. Kyoutani’s hair was still bleached, but he looked so much more grown up now. In the photo was him and his girlfriend, both sticking out their tongues. His caption was something long, going on about the best two years of his life. It was corny, but Keiji had no room to judge. He stared at it longer than anybody else probably did, lost in his own quiet thoughts as a pang of envy struck his chest.

_ No one, huh?  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhh kind of a shitty chapter but anyway boys in skirts so ya win some ya lose some  
> anyway hello sorry i got this super aggravating burnout and it killed me off for, like, what, three weeks? jesus dude that's my bad.  
> oh also having a shitty recital/performance is a rite of passage. my performance fail was so bad omg i forgot how to play my instrument and when i finished i literally ran off stage crying and everybody like clapped confused and i think that shit is real funny now  
> i hope to be better about the next update, but tysm if you're still reading. shoutout to everyone who leaves kudos n comments. ur a real babe. 
> 
> make sure to wash your hands, stay home, and be safe :) i'll cya next time^^


	6. track six - wasp nest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi sorry

The rest of Keiji’s first year of university goes a little worse than he imagined. For the first time in his life, he fails a test in the beginning of his second semester. It’s the cause of a severe breakdown mid-morning that Kenma ends up monitoring and trying to eventually calm down. 

“You’ll pass the next one,” he says as he awkwardly sits on the end of Keiji’s bed. “We all have our off days.”   
Crying into his pillow, he lets out a gargled version of something similar to, “I don’t understand physics!”   
“Don’t let one test bring you down.”   
“I want to die.”   
There’s a soft pat to the top of his head. “No you don’t.” 

It takes him much longer than he likes to adjust to the fact that this schooling is just more difficult than it was in high school, but by the end of the second semester, it’s getting better. Keiji doesn’t ace every test and he can’t be perfect, and that’s okay. He’s thinking less about getting it flawlessly the first time, and more about how he can improve the second time. 

And interestingly enough, he finds that it applies to more than just school. 

In his memory, he’s established this thus far: wine and weed or vodka and nicotine both equaled out to puking and misery. Many of his free weekends (and occasional week days) have been an interesting experiment, to say the least, in finding what simple equations he can use to not feel like he might pass away.

Oh, and anything over seven shots is enough to cause serious damage. 

Keiji, on his ninth shot, can only see the world in a spin-cycle. Yesterday was his last exam, so both Kuroo and Bokuto waited to celebrate the end of the year with him. There’s no way he can stand, or even sit upright, so his head presses into Bokuto’s shoulder with all of his weight being supported by him. 

It’s hard to keep his eyes open, or pay attention to their conversation as it completely passes over his head. He doesn’t feel good, like this. Keiji wishes he was sober enough to sit up and not feel like a puppet whose strings got cut. 

“I think I’m going to take a gap year.”   
“Really? Would you go back to living with your grandparents?” 

“Nah, my mom’s got an apartment in the city and said I could stay for a year as long as I got a job. I’m gonna focus on drumming.”   
“Shit. Maybe I should do that too. Just take a year to practice.” 

“You should ask your mom.” 

Keiji plays with the hem of Bokuto’s shirt, just trying to concentrate on staying awake until it becomes too hard and he falls asleep unaware of the decision that had just been made without him. 

The next day, he packed up his things for good and said goodbye to Kenma. He had enjoyed being roommates with him, sincerely. The idea of starting over fresh the next year terrified him, but it had to happen eventually. Keiji drove home with his parents, went to bed early due to his long-lasting hangover, and finally got to relax. 

Relaxing only lasted those few hours. 

“You should really consider getting a job this year, Keiji,” his mother said the next morning as she put down a cup of coffee in front of him. 

It’s just the two of them this morning; his father already being at work. He takes the mug, thanking his mother and trying to ignore her statement. The concept of getting a job was brought up last year, but he thought maybe it had been dropped. 

“Your father and I just think that you need to start taking more responsibility,” she takes a seat at the table next to him. “You know, my friend’s hardware store is always hiring.” 

_ Christ.  _

She mentioned how that store had been hiring since he was sixteen years old. 

“I’ll help you write a resume this afternoon.” Her smile is friendly, because she does  _ mean  _ well. 

Keiji had never been opposed to getting a job. Obviously, we would have to eventually, but the idea of fully committing to one reminded him that he had to grow up. He knew plenty of people in high school that had jobs. A friend of his, Komi, worked at a sneaker store and would often show off his new kicks due to the employee’s discount. Bokuto would tell a lot of stories of his short-lived careers from high school even up to freshman year of college. His mom was rich, of course, but he had simply thought the idea of working was fun. There was the grocery store cashier period, the book shelver at a local library (one could guess how that one ended), a fish-market’s apprentice, and during a few summers he had helped build houses.

Working was normal, and the thought of being paid was exciting, but Keiji was still procrastinating doing so. 

Together with his mother, they wrote up a short and unimpressive resume. She told him it was a good start, and soon he’d be able to add to it, but there still remained a sick feeling in the bottom of his stomach as she dragged him out of the apartment and to her friend’s store. 

It was only a short train ride away to get to the hardware store. The place stood on the corner of the street, getting smaller as he grew up. In his memory from childhood, it had always seemed vast and full of aisles of things he didn’t care about as his mother and her friend conversed over the counter about work and day-to-day life. Now, as the door jingled open, Keiji looked over the seven aisles of tools and,  _ well,  _ things he didn’t care about with a sad feeling of nostalgia. 

A woman with dyed purple hair (it was red the last time he saw her) looked up from behind the counter with a grin, jogging around to hug both his mother and him. 

“Keiji, you look so grown up now!” She squeezed his shoulder before letting go, greeting his mother and asking how she was. 

From inside the aisles, another head popped up. It was another boy, probably around his age or older, met quick eye contact before going back to sorting something on a shelf. He wore the same uniform as Chigusa, his mother’s friend, so it was easy to assume he worked there. 

His mother elbowed his side, bringing him back to reality. In confusion, he looked at her questioning why before she pointed down towards the folded paper in his hands.

“Keiji has something he wants to ask you,” she said, more directed at him than her. 

With a soft exhale, he bowed down and held out the resume. “Please consider allowing me to work for you.” 

Across the store, there was quiet snicker. Staring down at the floor, biting his lip, Keiji could feel his face heat up. That boy was  _ laughing  _ at him. It didn’t end there, either. Chigusa snorted before letting out an ugly laugh, only embarrassing him further. He had tried to do what his mother wanted, and they were  _ laughing at him.  _

A hand ruffled his hair. “C’mon, get up.” 

Doing exactly that, Keiji stood up straight; averting his gaze to the side, overly aware that his cheeks were _definitely_ red. “I’m sorry.”   
“You don’t have to be so formal!” Chigusa moved to look him eye-to-eye before reaching out and taking the resume. “You really are your mother’s son.” 

Now unsure of what to do with his hands, Keiji shifted from wrapping his arms around him to putting his hands in his pockets as she scanned over the paper. Feeling insecure, his eyes flicked over towards the boy from before. His hair was longer, dark tips curling around the bottoms of his ears. Even from here, Keiji could tell his ears were pierced. 

“We _have_ been short of staff recently. Especially with _someone_ who’s all busy with his _girlfriend_.” She points over towards the boy, who stands up straight to protest before she cuts him off with a raised finger. “I’d be glad to let you work with us, Keiji. Eita can give you the training.”   
“Wait, now?” 

Before Keiji really realises what he’s signed up for his mother is telling him goodbye and that she’ll see him later that evening. From his previous guess on how the world works, he should have at least had a free week before having to work. Did she even  _ read  _ his resume? 

“Eita, Keiji. Keiji, Eita.” Chigusa points between the two, giving Keiji a gentle push in the other boy’s direction. “This is my no-good nephew, I think he’s around your age. Now, get to it.”   
The two of them stand awkwardly in front of each other, and by the looks of it, Eita does _not_ want to give him any sort of training at all. “Why can’t you do it?” He asks, proving Keiji’s point. 

“Because _I_ am going out for a smoke.” She tosses him a set of keys. “Don’t get robbed.”   
“ _Jesus_ , woman.” He mutters under his breath, catching the keys mid-air and waiting for Chigusa to exit the store. 

Keiji is instantly thrown off by how they speak to each other, both playful and harsh. If he had ever even said something slightly out of line to an adult, he’d get smacked. He knows for a fact that Eita isn’t her son. They have the same sort of pointed face, but she had introduced him as her nephew and growing up, his mother had inferred several things about her. Chigusa wasn’t married, and he had been told she never planned to, but she treated her sister’s kids like her own. Whenever his mom mentioned her to his dad, she’d get a sort of… look.  _ Lady friend  _ this,  _ she’s a little fruity  _ that. Keiji didn’t understand for a long time, but around the age of seventeen, it dawned on him. 

As soon as she shut the door, Eita turned around and continued shelving things from a box. Unsure what to do, Keiji fiddled with his fingers and waited for the other boy to say something.  _ Anything.  _

“Um, Eita-” 

“We’re not friends, you call me Semi.” He cut him off, words sharp. “If you want training, here you go: you work the counter, you scan things and use the register. You work inventory and whatever, you put things where they go. If somebody asks you where something is, tell them. Oh,” he looked up, almost like he was going to say something helpful, “and don’t talk to me. I guarantee that you and I will not get along, so don’t try.” 

_ Huh.  _

It hurts his pride, to be instantly talked down like that. He rips one of his cuticles, watching it bleed. “Thank you, Semi.”   
He’s ignored, which is probably a good thing. It’s enough to make him shut up, at least. Keiji walks around the store, attempting to at least familiarise himself with everything. This does little to help, though, as he really is unfamiliar with any sort of tools. If somebody held him at gunpoint and asked him what a philip’s head screwdriver was, he’d tell them to pull the trigger. 

The store’s overhead radio plays some kind of rocker song he recognises from Bokuto’s playlist. From the aisles, Semi hums along, ignoring him. Whenever a customer comes in, he’s helpful and friendly to them, giving advice and asking about projects. It’s a little infuriating, to see him smile at them and be charismatic after what just happened. 

_ You and I will not get along, so don’t try. _

It wasn’t as if he was automatically assuming they were going to be best friends forever, but it still hurt to hear him swat away any chance at them simply being acquaintances. 

_ So don’t try. _

Fine. He wasn’t going to try. If Semi wanted him to be cold, he’d be cold. 

* * *

His first week at work is probably one of the most confusing. Keiji cannot physically enter the dynamic that Chigusa and Semi have,  _ plus  _ he has to learn the layout of everything, how to use a cash register, and how to completely avoid Semi as he works. It’s exhausting, and he doesn’t even have time to meet with Bokuto and Kuroo to talk about classes. 

Keiji signed up for his courses when school ended, already enrolled for his second year. He was actually excited for his classes. This year, he was actually able to secure a spot in one of their music studies courses. His rooming information had just been emailed to him this morning, the day before his classes started. 

“Akinori Konoha,” he says out loud, walking into the dorm building. It was different from last year, but appeared to have the same layout. He’s bringing his things in by himself today, parents both being busy.

As he’s opening the door to his dorm, he’s realising that it won’t be Kenma behind that door. He had told himself this at the end of the last school year, but something about being fully certain that he’d no longer be rooming with him made his heart ache a little. 

His roommate (hopefully) was already inside, shoving unfolded laundry into a drawer. He looked over his shoulder, blowing his bangs out of the way. 

“Yo, you Akaashi?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Cool.” 

There’s an awkward silence that hangs in the air as Keiji brings in his bags, setting his bass case in the corner next to the bare bed. He opens his suitcase and plans on minding his own business after a week of practicing with Semi, when his roommate speaks again. 

“Is that a guitar?” Konoha’s sitting on the edge of his green duvet. 

“Oh,” he glances towards it, “it’s a bass guitar. Which is sort of similar, I guess, but-” 

Konoha waves his words away, making him trail off. “Got it, yeah. That’s cool, though. I always wanted to learn to play guitar, or something.”   
Keiji blinks at him. “Do you want me to teach you?”   
“Nah, I’m good enough at Guitar Hero to live without it.” He smiles at him, friendly but not overbearing.

It’s enough to make him feel comfortable.

Konoha’s good at talking. He continues the conversation with the topic of music, being more sociable than Kenma, but not like Bokuto who goes overboard. His sense of humour is dry and sarcastic, and he’s funny enough to make him genuinely laugh a few times. It’s enough to make a lasting impression that Keiji’s preparing a story for in his head to tell when he leaves the dorm and goes out to sit on a bench. 

Pulling out his phone, he quickly brings up his text messages with Kuroo. Bokuto is a less reliable texter. Even if he reads the texts people send, he scripts a response in his head and forgets to actually send it, or he just forgets in general as he gets distracted with something else. 

  
  


**k:** hey what dorm are you in this year

**k:** bokuto too

Kuroo almost immediately reads the messages, three dots popping up to signify him texting back. After a moment, his response comes up.

**kuroo:** dude

**kuroo:** bo and i are taking a gap year

He scans those two texts over and over again until that nervous feeling comes back in his stomach. 

It has to be a joke. 

The more he reads it, the more solidifying the messages get. No more texts come up with a “gotcha!” to reiterate that this was all just some elaborate ploy to freak him out. Bokuto and Kuroo aren’t coming back to school this year. 

_ Huh.  _

Keiji doesn’t bother responding, instead getting up and walking in a subconscious direction to the school’s cafe. He buys one of their overpriced watery hot chocolates like he always does, sits where he would sit with Bokuto and Kuroo, and thinks. 

It’s fine, really. 

Really, it wasn’t like high school. He didn’t see them every day and they didn’t even have classes together. It wasn’t like they dictated what he did every weekend and helped him feel comfortable in his own skin. 

Keiji would be fine. That was a given. 

All they ever did was play music with him, anyway. He could always play his bass by himself like he did at the beginning of last year. Keiji liked it outside, anyway. It was quiet and isolated and he spent so much time with himself that he had never felt more alone in his entire life. He rests his head on the table, ignoring his drink and the outside sounds of people in the cafe.

The entire situation was fine. 

A tap comes to his shoulder, followed by a familiar voice. “Are you okay?” 

He tilts his head up towards Kyoutani, who stares down at him with a weird look. “I’m fine.”   
“You don’t look fine,” he takes a seat across from him, where Bokuto would normally sit. “Shitty roommate or something?” 

Keiji huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. “Just stressed out a little, I guess.”   
“Classes don’t start for another few days, dude.” Kyoutani cracked open his energy drink. “You can relax a little.” 

“Thanks, I’ll totally do just that.” He rolls his eyes before letting out a sigh. “My two other friends aren’t coming back to school this year. They didn’t even tell me.”   
From across the table, Kyoutani frowns. “What, would you have taken a year off too if they had?”   
“God, no.” Keiji shakes his head. “My parents would kill me for even bringing that idea up. I just, I dunno,” he looks out the window, “it feels like we’re gonna drift. I needed them.” 

“Only person you need is yourself.” He moves to scoot out of the booth. “Besides, if you’ve forgotten, you still have all of us, y’know. Catch me next Friday, and I’ll take you to buy grass with me, okay?” 

After spending a year around everyone, he’s learned enough slang to know Kyoutani means weed. With a nod, he watches him leave, feeling slightly better. He could still meet up with Bokuto and Kuroo during his free time, and he still had friends. 

Maybe it really was fine. 

* * *

“Keiji, I’m trusting you to man the register,” Chigusa said, tossing him the keys as she prepared to go out for her smoke break. 

He nodded, catching them and moving from where he had been rearranging a display of spray paint. It was late evening, honestly later than he had wanted, but this was one of his only free times with his new class schedule. Whereas Keiji worked evenings, Semi thankfully didn’t. They still worked together on weekend mornings, but he was quick to exclude him from peripheral visions. 

The funny thing was, Semi hadn’t even done anything to be malicious. The only time words had been exchanged between them was a quick “ _ excuse me _ ” or something similar. Ever since that first encounter, however, Keiji would scowl at the thought of him. 

_ You and I will not get along, so don’t try. _

Instinctively, his eyebrows furrowed into a frown, fingers drumming on the table. 

_ Asshole.  _

* * *

After exhaling a messy cloud of smoke, Keiji choked on nothing before spitting into the grass. “Oh  _ god _ ,” he said before passing the blunt back to Kyoutani. 

He laughed, taking it from his hand. “It’s not so bad after a while.”   
Even with those very unhelpful words, there was no way to prevent the gagging paired with the headrush. Keiji reached towards his water bottle. On the list of everything he’d ever smoked out of, blunts had to be on the bottom. 

Kyoutani ever so slightly swung his legs back and forth from the top of the picnic table. “So, you were right when you said this would be a good smoking hole. How’d you find it?”   
He looked around at the trees, swallowing down some water before answering. “Some friends showed me last year.” 

It was the same place he’d gotten drunk with Bokuto and Kuroo. The same empty campsite, same trees, and even the same empty bottle of jager he spotted near the fire pit. 

There’s a quiet between the two as they smoke back and forth, albeit with some struggle from Keiji. It takes a few hits before he actually does get used to the wrap flavour, even if it’s a painful journey. Near the end of the blunt’s life, he notices that Kyoutani got a nose piercing. 

“When did you get that done?” He gets out at the end of a cough, swooping down to grab his water. There’s a buzz in his skull, one that makes him feel relaxed enough to lay back on the top of the picnic table. It’s a poor choice, and a fair amount of water spills onto his shirt. 

Kyoutani hums, reaching up to touch his nose before putting out the stub of the blunt on the table. “My older brother did it for me. He works at a tattoo and piercing place.”   
“That’s so cool,” he yawns. “I think I’d give my parents a heart attack if I got a piercing.” 

“All better the reason to get one.”   
It’s funny, so he laughs. From here, he can see the scattered stars, peeking out of hiding from the light pollution that still stretched out from the outskirts of campus. The buzz in his head calms for a moment. Each fleeting thought is like a wave- building until it crests, and then gently returning to the sea. 

_ Ah.  _

His high has settled in. 

Kyoutani’s eating a sandwich he pulled out of his backpack, scrolling through his phone and relatively seeming fine without interaction, so Keiji slides off the table and walks towards the edge of the circle. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he unlocks it and stares at the text conversation he had with Kuroo days ago. The one he left him on read during. His thumb hovers over the call option before exiting and going to his other contacts. Calling Kuroo would be…  _ well,  _ uncomfortable. He might cry if they argue. 

Taking a seat on one of the logs, he holds the phone up to his ear and patiently waits during the rings. 

“ _ Akaashi!” _ Bokuto’s voice is clear over the phone. 

“Hello, Bokuto,” Keiji says and fiddles with his hoodie strings. “Have you been well?”   
There’s a short pause. “ _Of course, are you okay? You’ve never called me before._ ” 

To be honest, he’s not sure if that’s true or not. Bokuto has a bad memory when it comes to certain things, but all Keiji can think of right now is that he should probably do a load of laundry soon. 

“Why aren’t you guys coming back?” He finally gets out. The top of his throat gets tighter. “I wanted you guys to come back.” 

“ _Akaaaashi, you’re still a part of the band._ ” It sounds like Bokuto gets up from his bed. “ _You didn’t reach out for, like, two weeks, but we still want to see you._ ”   
Tighter. He tries to swallow, but it’s difficult. “I wish I could see you now.” 

It’s not fair to Kyoutani to want to replace this situation right now with hanging out with them. Kyoutani is a good friend, but Keiji still internally wishes it were true. 

“ _ Are you busy this weekend? _ ” 

Yes, technically. He works mornings on the weekend and has an afternoon class on Sunday. “Sort of.”   
“ _I can always try to come down for a day. It would save you money on train fares.”_ He can hear him fiddling with something on the other end. “ _I don’t know about Kuroo though, his mom wasn’t kidding when she said he’d have to work._ ” 

Keiji huffs a laugh, the tension releasing slightly. “Maybe then we’ll finally be able to afford that practice place you always talk about.” 

“ _ It’s not a bad idea! I have no idea why you two always rag on me for that. _ ” 

“We would _never_.”   
Bokuto continues their phone call, making him feel more in control than before. He smiles into his phone, picking at bark on the log as he listens to a scheme about renting a small storage unit to practice in. It’s comforting to hear him so certain in his plans, juxtaposing how Keiji feels so uncertain in every aspect of his life. 

He likes it, probably more than he should. 

Bokuto sits across from him, eyes wide as he takes a bite into his burger. “Really? He said that on your  _ first  _ day?” 

It’s a bit stressful, the way he talks through the food in his mouth, but Keiji nods. “He told me not to bother trying to talk to him.”   
“Eeh? That’s so rude!” Thankfully, he swallows. “Nobody should talk to you that way.”   
He looks down at his burger, unsure what to feel and hoping that Bokuto doesn’t notice the tips of his ears are red. Staying true to his word, he came down the very next afternoon to see Keiji and explained that Kuroo was working not one, but _two_ jobs today and no longer had free time. The two sat outside of a fast food joint, going over what had happened in the past two weeks where they hadn’t talked. 

Kuroo was both a waiter and a dishwasher at two different restaurants, Bokuto had found a new trick for shredding, and then came all of Keiji’s own two weeks. He got a job, had a nemesis (to put it dramatically), and had his troubles adjusting to the new year. 

“You’ll get used to it before you know it.” Bokuto takes a sip of his drink. “I cried every night the first week of my first year. I had never been away from home for so long. Then, I got used to the no-longer private showers and long classes and not being with my mom.” He looks over at him with a smile. “I believe in you, Akaashi.” 

He smiles, gives a small thanks, and then internally curses at himself. 

Keiji was  _ not  _ about to develop a crush on Bokuto. 

* * *

Around his third week of school, Keiji had a fairly good routine. He would go to his classes, go to work, and then play around on his bass in the usual spots. The amount of times he would smoke or drink lessened dramatically with his now full schedule, only occasionally having time to unwind. It was aggravating, and he severely missed how much free time he had his first year, but in the end, it was probably better for him in the end. 

Then came the wasps. 

In the corner of the back dorm area, under the top of the picnic table, had accumulated the largest wasp’s nest Keiji had seen in his entire life. The first time he noticed it, he let out a scream that he was thankful nobody else was around to hear. With a small army of wasps after him, he had resorted to a primal act of  _ swinging his bass at the wasps _ before realising that was an idiotic plan _ ,  _ giving up and sprinting away.

So now, Keiji was left without a practice space and what he considered to be a rational fear of wasps. 

That first part wasn’t much of a problem, he thought. He could just practice in his room. Konoha seemed interested in guitars when they first met, so that wouldn’t be an issue.

It was an issue. 

“Akaashi.”   
Looking up from the tab he was practicing, Keiji tilted his head. From across the room, Konoha had his head in his hands, desk covered in papers and textbooks. 

“Yeah?” He asked innocently.

Konoha laughed- or sobbed. It was honestly hard to tell. “That sounds great and all, but if you play that song one more fucking time I am going to  _ snap. _ ” 

With furrowed brows, he looked over at his alarm clock. It had been three hours since he had started learning the notes. Feeling embarrassed, Keiji set the bass down and bowed his head, even though Konoha wasn’t looking at him. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll stop.”   
“Thank you.” 

Now, he sat awkwardly revelling in the newfound silence. Konoha’s pencil scratched against his papers. Keiji stared down at his fingers in his lap, aggravated that he didn’t get to finish practicing, but also not wanting to be rude. It was only mid-afternoon, he didn’t want to do his own course work yet. If he didn’t get the song perfected today, he already knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. His hyperfixation on tasks was a blessing and a curse, for that very reason. 

His finger twitches, and Keiji decides he can’t do this anymore.

It takes only a minute for him to zip up his bass inside its case, throw on his shoes, and leave the dorm. He has virtually no idea where he’ll go, but he  _ does  _ know that if he didn’t finish what he had started, Konoha would have to scrape up his remains off the floor after Keiji exploded. 

Gripping the strap of his case, Keiji takes in a deep breath and stomps over to the picnic table. The mass of a hive is still there, menacingly waiting for him. Hands curling into tight fists, he bends to the ground, grabbing a rock. Exhaling hard out of his nose, he aims, and throws the rock as hard as he can. It misses, horribly, and he prays that nobody saw it out of their window. With one more try, he throws another rock and it hits the middle of it, breaking it open. 

His plan didn’t really extend beyond this point. 

Watching the horde of wasps rise out of the hole is enough to send him sprinting away in terror, bass thumping hard against his back. By the time he assumes he’s safe, he gasping for air, bent over with the weight of his instrument hurting his back. 

Now he’s lost his practice space  _ and  _ a battle with wasps  _ twice.  _ Keiji stands up straight, still panting and looks around at the area. He’d be too embarrassed to play so near people who walked up and down the campus. He can’t play in his dorm either. When about to give up hope and find another quiet corner where he’d be alone, he remembers the school’s music room. 

They had practiced there plenty last year, where they could actually use a drum kit for Kuroo. Bokuto had always led them in there, he and Kuroo being comfortable enough with the space to familiarise Keiji with the space. The thought of going there now was nerve-wracking, however. What was he to do if he was told to leave? Or if he didn’t know what to do? 

It’s his only real chance to find quiet practice, however. If he can’t face wasps, he can at least face trying something new. 

Quickly and quietly, Keiji walks across the campus to the music building, walking inside with general relief. It’s fairly empty, only his music professor and a few students asking him something about theory when he notices Keiji. 

“Ah, come to play?” He asks with a smile. 

Keiji nods. 

“Private rooms are down the hall and to the left.” 

With a thumbs up, he heads down in the direction he was told. The larger practice rooms were familiar with him, but he had never actually used one of the private rooms. With the others full, he opens one of the doors with the lights off. The small room is soundproof and gives him a chance to exhale shakily. 

It’s fine. 

He can do things on his own and be fine. 

After a few minutes, he’s settled in enough to start playing again. Keiji plugs in his headphones, pulling up the song he was learning and presses play. He counts the beats in his head, closing his eyes as his fingers found the opening tab on their own.

He plays over the song about three times, consistently messing up around halfway when his mind starts to wander. A broad back fills his thoughts, a frown coming on as he forces himself to concentrate on the music and whisk away any inappropriate thoughts that filled the extra spaces of his brain. Keiji turns the volume in his earbuds higher, letting out an aggravated sigh as he re-started for the fourth time. Closing his eyes, he pictures the notes in his mind, determined to finish the whole thing for once. 

He doesn’t hear the door open. 

The song comes to a close, and he lets out a breath he had been holding in. Keiji yanks out his earbuds, satisfied with his work, and opens his eyes. 

Semi’s in the doorway, looking at him with a scowl pinching his face. 

He jumps, almost dropping his bass. “What are you doing?” His voice has a bite to it that he doesn’t necessarily mean, but is glad that it comes out anyway. 

“I usually use this room,” he says in return. Keiji notices the case on his back this time, as well as the amp bag.   
“It didn’t have your name on it.” Glaring, feeling like this is redemption for losing against the wasps, He tries to look as mean as he can.

Semi drops his scowl. “What song was that?”   
Keiji stares at him, lips parted. “What?” 

“The song.” He points at his bass with his free hand. “I liked it.” 

“Oh.”   
It’s quiet for a second. He’s confused and feels stupid staring at him from where he sits, but there’s nothing else his brain gives to help. This is different from fighting wasps. He expected the horde, and now was left with silence. 

Semi looks at him expectantly. “So..? Can you show me?” 

Despite wanting to say no, Keiji’s submissive side is stronger than his resisting side. Motioning for him to come in, Keiji makes room for both Semi and Semi’s things as his co-worker takes a seat on the bench next to him. 

He unplugs his earbuds from his phone, playing it out loud and moving his hands back to the chords. It’s embarrassing to play so closely in front of somebody he doesn’t know, and it’s the longest three minutes of his life, but the approving nod of Semi makes it feel somewhat worth it. 

“How long have you been playing? Your technique is very good.” In Keiji’s surprise, Semi takes one of his hands and looks at his fingers. 

He yanks back his hand, unsure of what to think. “Since I was eleven. Why are you talking to me?” Keiji’s defense comes back up, suspicious of how he’s acting. 

Semi sighs in annoyance and his head drops back. “Jesus, do you want an apology? I’m sorry for being a dick at work, I expected you to be an asshole.” 

Keiji blinks at him. “That’s not even a good apology.”   
His eyes narrow, but then seem to give up. “I don’t like new things, or people, I guess. I’d rather give you a reason to stay away from me at the beginning than drag it out.” Semi unzips his case, pulling out an absolutely _gorgeous_ purple bass. “You don’t have to like me, I guess. I just liked the song.” 

He has to refrain from immediately asking a zillion questions about the bass. “There are so many better ways to deal with change, you know.” 

Semi’s long fingers ghost at the strings. “We all have our flaws. What was that opening note?” 

Playing it once in response is enough for him to build the opening pattern. Keiji gawks at him. “Is that it then? Are you just going to ask me about a song and we go our separate ways.”   
His fingers catch on the strings, the melody ending. “If that’s what you want.” Semi looks up at him, innocent look on his face.

This conversation is exhausting. “The room is all yours.” 

Keiji packs up his things and leaves quickly, embarrassed and somehow feeling defeated again. Maybe Semi and the wasps had conspired together. 

* * *

In this third year of high school, Keiji got a fake I.D. to buy nicotine. That had been the only thing he had  _ ever  _ used it for, and it still made him uncomfortable. 

“What can I do for you?” the man at the counter asked as he walked up.

The door jingled behind them, someone else entering the store. 

Keiji swallowed, mind racing at the new cashier. The woman who was normally here never carded him anymore. “Three packs of pods, please.” His voice stayed calm, even at the raise of the man’s eyebrow. “Two mint, one cucumber.” 

“I.D.?” He holds his hand out expectantly.

Nodding, Keiji pulls out his wallet. The fake always sat behind his real I.D., generally looking real enough for a simple glance. “Here.” He puts it in his hand gently. 

The man looks at the front and back, and for a second Keiji thinks he’s in the clear. Then, he pulls out a small, UV light and shines it on the card before huffing a laugh and handing it back to Keiji. 

“Nice try, kid.” The man points to the door. “Not gonna sell to minors.”   
Face on fire, Keiji spins around to walk out, murmuring a quiet apology to the cashier. Almost instantly, he bumps into somebody.   
Low and behold, it’s the wasp. 

Semi blinks at him, wallet in hand, looking as if he wants to say something. Keiji doesn’t care nor does he give him the chance to. Hands in his hoodie pockets, he pushes out of the doors biting his lip. He’s so embarrassed he might die. Not only that, but he  _ desperately  _ needed a refill. 

It’s dark, being fairly late evening, and there’s nobody around to see him. At the corner of the convenience store, Keiji crouches down, puts his head in his hands, squeezes his eyes as tightly as he can. 

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” he says to himself. 

After what feels like an eternity of wallowing in his own humiliation, someone gives a soft kick to his ankle. The push is unexpected, and he almost falls over. Taking his hands away from his face, Keiji looks up at Semi. 

“If you hang around here, you’re gonna get mugged.”   
He nods. “Yeah.” It doesn’t take long for him to get back to his feet, walking in the direction the doesn’t involve Semi looking at him like he’s a fucking idiot. 

There’s another kick to his ankle. This time, Keiji turns around with a glare. “What do you _want_?”   
Semi holds up a finger before rustling through his plastic bag to pull out three little boxes. He holds them out towards Keiji. “Two mint, one cucumber.” 

Staring at the boxes blankly, Keiji isn’t particularly sure what to say. “Huh?”

“Well, I mean I saw what happened.” He shrugs. “It was super embarrassing, by the way.”   
He doesn’t laugh.

“Anyway,” Semi continues, “I felt bad and thought I’d try apologising again.” He motions for him to take the packs. 

Keiji does, still a little dumbfounded. “Thank you, I suppose.”   
There’s a pause in the conversation. Semi purses his lips before exhaling. “Okay, look. I’m sorry for not giving you a chance before. I was the one who was a dick and I am _actually_ trying to reconcile. I think that maybe we could get along.” 

He isn’t really sure what to say. 

Semi tilts his head. “Look, at least give me a chance.”   
In his mind, he pictures himself approaching the wasp’s nest.

This time he doesn’t pick up the rock. 

“Fine.” 

Semi liked creme flavoured pods. 

Admittedly, this was a concerning factor. Even if Keiji  _ was  _ to look past their previous interactions, he couldn’t forgive this. The two sat on a bench outside of a train station, a few minutes remaining before theirs arrived. Preoccupied with refitting his juul with the new pod, Semi hadn’t said much in the past minute. He glanced over, seeing Keiji’s wrinkled nose. 

“What?” 

“I just-” he grimaces. “That flavour is so  _ gross _ .” 

To his surprise, Semi actually laughs. “At least I’m not basic. If you’re gonna be addicted to something, at least be  _ interesting _ .” 

Keiji sticks a finger in his mouth and mines barfing, making Semi laugh again. The tense air between them lessens and he smiles. It gets a little easier to talk now, like there isn’t a gun pointed at him forcing him to be careful. 

“So, you play bass too?” Keiji asks, rolling the three boxes around in his hands. “I really liked your guitar.” 

Semi flashes him a grin. “Thanks. I saw it in a store maybe four years ago. Couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I spent forever saving up paychecks and finding whatever small jobs I could until I could afford it.” He looks over at him, eyebrows raised. “Of course, then I had to learn to play.”   
“You didn’t know how to play?” 

“Nope. I had never played an instrument in my entire life.”   
He thinks back to how Semi could play the entire intro to the song after hearing the first note again, almost concerned. It took him longer than four years to train his ears to pick up melodies and picture the notes. 

_ Jesus.  _

He tried not to be narcissistic, but previously Keiji had never felt inferior in his playing skills compared to other bassists he knew. Now, he might have met his match. 

“That’s really impressive,” Keiji admits because it’s true. “You must be very passionate about it.” 

“Definitely.” Leaning back on the bench, Semi lets his head fall to exhale a thin stream of vapour. “It’s lame to say I want to perform with people some day, but I do.” 

He thinks back to last year and hums. “I’m in a band, I guess. We played for the first time last year and I totally screwed up. Our vocalist made us, uh, crossdress too. So it isn’t  _ all  _ great.” 

Semi chokes. “Oh my god, at the showcase last year?” 

His face heats up again. “I- uh, yeah.” 

Keiji tries not to be embarrassed as Semi explodes in laughter, bending over as he cackles. Other people on the platform look over at them. His cheeks are  _ definitely  _ red, so he puts his face in his hands. A hand claps down on his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, sorry.” Semi’s gives one last breathy laugh. “That was the funniest thing. Everybody in the crowd was like, ‘ _ Are they allowed to do that?’ _ , it was hilarious.” 

His teeth clench at the memory. “It was humiliating.” 

The whistling noise of the wind signals an oncoming train.

“No! No, dude, it was  _ legendary. _ ” He pulls up Keiji from his position. “You guys actually rocked.” With a grin, Semi pats him on the back.  _ Well,  _ it’s more like a slap. “C’mon, let’s not miss our ride.” 

The two jog through the opening doors of the train, looking for empty seats before the jolting starts towards the next station. Keiji finds that he can breathe a little easier now, guard coming down as Semi starts giving him  _ actual  _ helpful advice. 

“There’s this old woman who always comes to buy things for her home projects,” Semi leans his head against the window, “and if you have genuine conversations with her, she buys you a pack of gum from the counter. I have, like, fifty packs by now.” He points towards Keiji. “I’m telling you, if you’re friendly with customers, it really pays off.” 

He raises an eyebrow. “Just as long as you’re an asshole with your co-workers.” 

Rolling his eyes, Kiji receives the flip of a bird. “Never gonna let that go?” 

“Nope.” 

A kick comes to his shin, making him laugh. Keiji finds himself smiling for the rest of the train ride home. Co-existing with the wasps was better than getting sung, anyway. 

* * *

The red glow from the cigarette highlighted Bokuto’s features in the surrounding darkness of the alley. He tilted his head back, eyes half-lidded as he let out a thin stream of smoke. 

“It was a great show, bro,” Kuroo leaned on Semi’s shoulder. “I still think you should open for us some day.” 

Semi let out a bark of a laugh, cigarette handed back to him. “Unless you guys open for us first.” With a quick drag from the cigarette, he blows a smoke ring into Kuroo’s face.  
He and Kuroo continue to playfully bicker over who was going to blow up first as Bokuto leaned his forehead against the back of Keiji’s collarbone. Nicotine made him dizzy and lightheaded, but he still participated in social smoking whenever they hung out with Semi. Keiji had told him _several_ times that if it made him feel ill then he should stop, but Bokuto being Bokuto, he persisted to feel included. 

In an awkward position, he reached back to pat the top of his head. “You okay?”

Bokuto hums a response back, but keeps his head there. As Keiji’s given the cigarette, he takes caution to exhale in a direction that generally won’t waft in Bokuto’s direction. 

Kuroo takes the last drag of the cigarette, flicking the butt into an empty trashcan. Semi makes an offhand comment about a wasp nest nearby, and that they shouldn’t stick around if they don’t want to get stung, but Keiji’s distracted. Behind him, Bokuto is humming a song from the show they had just been at. 

A frown comes to his face, the aftertaste of tobacco sour in his mouth. As much as it doesn’t matter anymore, he still finds it unfair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hnnnnfg oh look a set up for the next chapter (if i can write the next one faster jesus christ) anyway it's like three in the morning so i don't have much to say except for kdsajfbefbiwefailwe oh my god im so tired   
> anyway !!! tysm for reading i really do appreciate it. ik it isnt as exciting as side a or b bc what the fuck is going on am i right haha but still tysm tysm tysm
> 
> make sure to wash your hands, stay home, and be healthy. stay safe, homies. i love ya buddy  
> i'll cya next time^^

**Author's Note:**

> wow this was an obnoxiously long first chapter. i didnt think the party would last that long but hhhhh what can you do  
> anyway tysm for reading !! this one isn't going to be like a day-by-day timeline. im doing a hard mix of the past and future but i have a lot of specific developments for these guys and connections to side a and the band before and during their time with kei. not the mention their time after kei, before the beginning of side a, yknow? anyway sorry i'll stop nerding out about the intricacies of my own plot (ew)  
> (also this is a woman loving space and if i see a single person talking shit about yukie i will literally curbstomp you, deadass. i aint scared of any annoying stans) 
> 
> make sure to wash your hands, stay home, and stay healthy. be safe, babes. i'll cya^^


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